#I viewed like 6 flats in 5 days!

[badgertracksart]

Portfolio advice, from a lead who hires Concept Artists

(This was originally a twitter thread I wrote before the site self imolated, hense it's strange structure.) I wrote this after a weekend of portfolio reviews - 1. Like a maths exam, please please show your working. I want to see thumbs options, mid options and of course a final design.

2. Arrange your portfolio, I don't want to bounce about between subject matter and pipeline. Your portfolio's narrative should be as strong as your work... 3. Please make worlds that excite the viewer, make them want to go in and explore them, explain to them the interesting parts of the town, or the way the character's hat unfolds. How will this draw the viewer in? 4. As I've said before the majority of your project work is explanatory not mood, make sure your portfolio contains explanatory work. Explained here -

5. A lot of beautiful post apocolyptic paintings, , but 80% of realistic games and film, we just give the environment artists photo ref, they are capable artists in their own right. Different work in stylised where you do need to create rules for how things can be translated. 6. Production art contains call out sheets, material references and flat graphics. This doesn't have to be your final image, but it should support it.

7. Design characters on a swatch(es) of the environment they will be viewed in. Not on white. I make swatch backgrounds from screenshots, it avoids assumptions that damage readability. 8. Reverse of this, put people in your environments, show me the scale.

9. It's not a deal breaker for a review, but if you intend to get a job, please show me your work on a screen larger than a smartphone (print outs probably the cheapest option with the best battery life). 10. Please have your contact details clearly visible, and by that I mean email address, I will not pass your social media contact on, I cannot input your form into my tracking system. EMAIL ADDRESS emblazoned and bake it in, sometimes recruiters do funky stuff to pdfs

11. Your portfolio will never feel done, not to you anyway. You will have learnt from your latest pieces and want to apply it to older work. But we know art is a journey. Send your portfolio anyway. I've been in the industry 10+ years and my portfolio is still not 'finished'. 12. If you are applying to an environment centric Concept Art position then please vary your times of day! Golden hour is cool but show me some happy sunny days, looming overcast days, what about at night? Vary your weather too! Sunny snowy day? Rainy Spring day? Stormy night?

13. If you are applying for a character centric Concept Art role then please ensure your portfolio shows a variety of body types and ethnicities. 14. Designing characters for games? Please show back views and feet (!) Many potfolios contain only front views. This is a problem because:

You haven't shown you are considering the design from all angles.

In many games rear view is the main view.

Stop cropping feet.

15. If you are entry / graduating and looking at Portfolios to compare content and standard of yr own work too, look at hired grad/junior artists as opposed to seniors Seniors and leads often have old or personal work in their portfolio which isnt representative of the day job. 16a. Show clearly the intended use case for your Concept Art. Mention the game type in the description. Are these player character designs for a 3rd person adventure game? Then more back views please. Bonus points for diagetic ways of showing health / equipment / role etc.

16b. Are these designs for an FPS? Then really the player view of the gun needs to sell the player style/ choices, in an FPS your weapons are almost your character. Are these world designs? What's the view distance? For an RTS your shapes need to read from above & a distance. 16c. The lack of clarification means I am judging the design in isolation, which both harms the design (you might be considering the backview of a char as the main adventure character.) Or an NPC, their waist up expressions may be important for conveying exposition and mechanics.

16d. Concept art is not separate from gameplay, great concept art serves the game team before it is a good illustration.

17. Play games. A variety of games. Think about them. IMO to be a good concept artist you need to understand the common language & references used by your peers. Also understand the principles and common language your audience are used to. FPS design rules are v.diff from RTS.

18. There are many skills that are needed in concept art, please show them. For example: Graphic design - logos, liveries, typographic use etc. VFX concepts - Abilities, Ambience, motion concepts. Architectural knowledge - How buildings are built! & more but I'm out of space :O

[sssilverstoned]

reminiscing ꩜ ln4

type: instagram/twitter au

Fans suffer days leading to love's holiday without their favorite couple.

lily said: hi! my first fic here, my first social media au ever, hope u enjoy :) will be a part 2 and 3..maybe more as well. whatever my heart desires and such

call her daddy podcast, 2/6/23

alex cooper and special guest: y/n l/n

y/n l/n: my friends keep trying to get me on dates, but i don't know, i'm just too much of a homebody right now. trying my best, but i'm rusty.

alex cooper: right, and i totally don't want to bring it up, if you don't want it out, but...

y/n l/n: no, it's totally fine. and yes, i'm single. it's one of those things i figured people will start to pick up on, it's kinda how life like this goes.

alex cooper: like a microscope on your relationship?

y/n l/n: exactly. made stuff super stressful, especially since we started dating when we were 19.

alex cooper: shit, 5 years is longer than i thought!

y/n l/n: we grew up together, had so many highlights and growing pains, and i don't want to get on your show and wallow or pout, that's really not what i feel. and i hope no one thinks anyone did anything wrong, it's just a growth thing. some people, as they grow, grow differently. and apart, i guess.

alex cooper: but you still have love for each other, i know that for sure.

y/n l/n: i'll never ever lose that love, i don't think.

Liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc, and 1,264,997 others

landonorris Quite a birthday today! Another year around the sun, another year of me kissing your face. Love you the most.

user1 yassss OUR girlfriend!

yourusername To the moon and back baby!!!!

yourusername Not pictured: his slobber on my cheek

landonorris You quite like my slobber, no? oscarpiastri I surely don't

user2: you two really are growing up together :')

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Liked by zendaya, kendalljenner, and 1,754,132 others

yourusername Sweet boy took me for a picnic, had too much wine hahaha. Thank you all for the birthday wishes, my heart is singing!!!! 23, woah am I close to getting old?

user1 SWEET BOY oh you people are sick

landonorris The most stunning girl, even napping

landonorris and yes you're old now user2 CORNYYYY (i'm ready to end it all) user3 "you're old now" and what are you??

emrata Wine's always a good idea

bellahadid happy birthday baby! come visit soon

user4 does that say lando on her necklace . i'm gonna snap soon

sza Loveeeee. U my favorite, Happy Solar Return!

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Liked by alpinegoss, paddocktea, and 16,821 others

f1gossipcentral submission from a fan today in monaco:

i met lando today with a few others, he was so nice! we didn't want to ask flat out about y/n, he actually brought her up in passing when someone mentioned being from the same hometown as her, and he pointed it out himself. he didn't have the same energy we're used to when speaking about her, but it's obvious there was love in his voice, a lot of it. he's still got her friendship bracelet she made him last year on, but i think it's the type you'd have to cut to get off. regardless, i hope the best for him, and her too.

user1 you're telling me just the name of her hometown and he BLURTS about her?? AFTER being broken up??? yeah we're never seeing pearly gates atp

user2 is this what a broken home feels like?

user3 SHATTERED home. and yes. user4 y/n lando please. come home the kids miss you

user5: single y/n...don't hate me but i would love a baddie era

user6: oh this is not a safe space for you.

View more comments...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for calling my friend s bad friend?

Basically, I cant stand people being late due to constantly being let down by family (like saying they would show up to my university graduation and then didn't, missing me win an award at an award dinner I was at but showing up in time for dessert, etc). I've been in therapy and am getting better.

I can handle 5-10 minutes of lateness. I can understand if there is an accident or traffic jam, just let me know!

But Jenny...

Jenny knows I have these issues, I had told her to her face about how I despise lateness and view it as someone not valuing my time or friendship, but I guess I didnt explicitly state SHE was doing that. However she was late two weeks ago by 30 minutes and told me "yeah I know you don't like it when im late" so she does know

Shes always late. Shes on time for work and her classes at university, but not for when we meet up. The first time she was 2 hours late, causing us to miss the show we were going to go see.

The other day, she was 3 hours late. She only lives 15 minutes from me and told me she had just made it home and was going to eat lunch then come to mine. When the first hour went by I texted. Then the second I did again. No response any time. It freaked me out because then I was panicked, like what if she got in an accident. 3 hours late she finally texts me saying "hey can we postpone until 6?" To which I told her we should just meet another time. If she had said she didn't want to meet up I would be fine with that, but don't leave the expectation that you are still coming.

So, today Jenny was supposed to meet so we could see a movie. We had to leave to get there in time. She didn't arrive at the time I told her, which was not the real time. 30 minutes go by I text her and she doesn't respond. I leave at the latest I could have and maybe sped a bit to get there in time. I watched the entire movie and she didn't text me until almost an hour after, by that point I was already home.

She got upset i watched the movie without her. I flat out said she was a bad friend for not texting saying she couldn't make the time, constantly making me worry when she doesn't show up on time, and even being aware that I dont like when people are late and choosing to do it anyways. She called me an asshole and said I was overreacting because of how my family treated me.

AITA?

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 6)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ Evan and Y/N are back in LA. When he dares Y/N to wear vibrating panties at his friend’s party, things go from flirty to explosive. What starts as a cheeky challenge turns into a heated race to the guest room, where they unleash an erotic showdown of throbbing heat and raw need. Just as their passion peaks, a shocking announcement throws their world suddenly into chaos. 

Warnings ─ Swearing, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, vibrator teasing, overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, pinned against the wall, doggie, extra smutty—it’s the norm by now ;)

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4 | Read Part 5

Word count ─ 4.5K (they’re getting longer, you guys 😱)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

The evening sun dips below the horizon, bathing your apartment in a warm, honeyed glow. You adore these longer days—they make everything feel more alive. You saunter across the room, the hem of your mini skirt flaring and swishing around your thighs. Your outfit hugs your body like a second skin, leaving just enough to the imagination.

Your phone screen catches your eye, gleaming in the dim light. 21:16. You’re officially late for the party, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that you should be rushing out the door. “Evan, we’re gonna miss all the fun if we don’t hurry,” you call out, trying to keep the urgency from creeping into your voice as you spritz on your favourite perfume.

Evan lounges on the couch, long arms draped over the sides and legs stretched out, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Chill, baby. Fashionably late is our brand,” he defends with a confident wink.

A script lies forgotten across his lap, the pages flipping slightly from the ceiling fan overhead. He’s petting Rufus, your housemate Mayra’s Siamese cat, who purrs contentedly beside him. Mayra had barely returned from NYC before jetting off to Turkey to tend to her ill dad. With no time to get Rufus’ travel documents in order, he stayed behind, leaving you in charge of his care. You couldn’t ask for a better arrangement, to be honest.

Evan’s eyes are not on the words bouncing across the page in front of him; they’re on you and with a laser-focused intensity that makes the room feel a few degrees hotter. You sense his gaze tracking your every move as you flit from room to room; he traces the way your hair smoothly cascades over your bare shoulders, following the delicate arch of your back and the fabric clinging onto the curve of your ass just right.

His eyes linger, greedily drinking in every inch of your body as you rifle through your porcelain jewellery box. His gaze feels like a warm caress, drawn to the rhythmic sway of your hips with every stride, your smooth skin glowing under the light. Your bare feet make no sound on the plush carpet, but the air between you two seems to crackle like a live wire.

You pick out a discreet rose gold necklace, clasping it around your neck so it flows over your protruding collarbones.

“Are you gonna stare all night, or do I need to start charging for tickets?” you tease huskily, glancing over your shoulder with a sly smirk.

He chuckles, a rich rumble that sends a delightful tingle across your skin. “If I had to pay for a view like this, I’d be flat broke. I’m not sure I’m ready to share you with anyone else’s eyes tonight. Maybe we should skip the party and stay in,” he taunts, waggling his brows with a suggestive crooked smile.

Although his deep voice purrs with a seductive charm that always sends a shiver down your spine, you shake your head with a mischievous grin. “How about no? Nice try, but we’re going. So, get your adorable ass off that couch and put on your shoes, handsome.”

You head to your bedroom to grab your shoes and jacket, feeling his eyes trained on you. “Looks like you and Rufus are hitting it off, despite your die-hard dog obsession,” you mock as you pace back to the living room, fluffing your hair in the mirror with a casual toss.

He nods in agreement as he gently scratches behind Rufus’ ears. “We’re practically besties, but there’s only one pussy I’m interested in tonight,” he spills out, his lips curling into a knowing grin.

You catch his reflection in the mirror, snorting at his bold remark. “Is that so?” you coo, eyebrows raised, your voice dripping with feigned surprise.

There’s a wicked, predatory glint in his eyes as he slips off the couch with fluid confidence, nodding. In an instant, he’s beside you, his arms sliding around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. He brushes his chin along the nape of your neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your shoulder blade as he lets out a shallow breath into the shell of your ear.

“You know, miss, you’re making it very hard to concentrate on anything but you,” he rasps, his tone a low, intimate murmur that makes your insides flutter.

He peppers kisses along your shoulder until his lips find your earlobe, taking it between his teeth for a gentle nibble that makes your breath hitch and your pulse quicken. His arm glides across your stomach, splaying possessively on your hip, while the other hand sneaks up under your top. The electric feel of his fingertips cupping your tits and tugging at your hard nipples forces a gasp out of you.

“Evan,” you manage to huff out, trying to wiggle free from his grasp, but his robust arms only tighten around you. Each breath you take stutters in your chest as you struggle to form a coherent thought. “We gotta go.”

“No, we don’t,” he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your neck as he leans in to kiss the sensitive spot just below your jawline. “Come on,” he pleads and pulls you back in, his teeth grazing your skin as he leaves love bites along your flesh. “We’ve got a few minutes for a little appetiser before the main course, right?”

“We’re already late, Evan, and you’re not exactly helping,” you growl lowly through gritted teeth, playfully swatting his hands away. You’re giving him a reality check, but the scratchy undertone in your voice betrays your growing arousal.

“I could help you out of these clothes, though,” he blurts out with a smug smile, his arms glued around your waist, making your heart race even faster. You can feel the hard lines of his body as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your top. 

“It’s just a house party, no biggie. My friends are cool with it…but you’re too hot to handle… and I’m having a very haaard time keeping cool,” he rambles, his face buried in your hair. He inhales a deep whiff of your jasmine scent, his hands roaming hungrily over your curves. 

“Evan, we won’t get outta here if you keep this up,” you chide tenderly, though your words tumble down breathless and wanting.

Every fibre of your body screams at you to resist, to not let him fuck up into you. Even when his crotch is hard of rocket magnitude and leaking for you, and he’s only intelligible for a mere “Just sit on it, baby, please.” 

Even when he’s mindlessly babbling utter nonsense crap because he truly has nothing in his head but the feel of your hot, wet pussy restlessly sliding over his cock until he loads you up to the brim.

Even when all you want is to play with his angered red tip, pull it back to open his little slit up and make him mewl, a chocked oh my fucking god, please escaping him. Even when you press his cockhead to your clit and rub it around, slapping it relentlessly on your cunt, and he implores you to stop.

“Evan…” your voice a breathy whisper as he hikes up your skirt, his feather-light touch making your cunt pulsate. He hums as his hands travel over your torso, now slowly and tortuously snaking underneath your skirt. “It’s not nice...your friends are waiting for u-u-s,” you trail off, your tone dying out as you feel his erection nudging insistently against your lower back.

You love the hard press of his boner against you. It makes your heart thud and your pussy drip, knowing you’re the sole source and cause of all that raw desire.

“We need to leave-e…” you protest weakly, torn between the ticking clock and the sinful temptation to stay and get laid. But your voice lacks conviction as he drags kisses down your shoulders, each one more insistent and heady than the last.

He chuckles softly, sensing the crack in your resolve. “We can, don’t worry,” he murmurs, his hot breath sending electric jolts down your core. “I’ll make it worth every second.”

Deftly unzipping your skirt from behind, his hands—firm and decisive—massage your ass as he leans in, peering into your panties. The sight of your black thong on full display makes him suck in a sharp breath and instinctively squeeze your waist in his strong hands.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/N,” he hisses, voice thick with lust and just a hint of disbelief, like he can’t believe his luck. You let out a soft mewl as his erection grinds between your ass cheeks, almost spreading them apart with its intensity. The heat of his body seeps into you, and you can practically feel your slick pooling, turning your thoughts into a jumbled mess.

His lips find your neck again, this time more urgent and harsher, nibbling at your skin with a fervour that makes your brain go all mushy. You wince reflexively, but the brief sting melts into pleasure as his tongue laps over the forming hickey, soothing the bruise with gentle strokes. 

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with agonising slowness. Just as you’re about to speak, his fingers slide against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your slippery folds, and you lose all train of thought. You moan, tilting your head to grant him better access, your fingers threading into his hair to massage his scalp, holding him close.

His free hand moves over yours, and you guide his fingers towards your bundle of nerves. “Oh, shit,” he hushes, his breath hot and laboured against your skin. His thumb brushes against your plump lips, parting them gently to reveal the soaked slit of your beautiful pussy.

“Imagine my dick drowning in these waters,” he mumbles more to himself, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you firm. His hips rub against you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, the friction making you arch into him, craving more of the pleasure he promises with every motion.

“Evan…” you breathe, the sound barely audible over your thundering pulse. But he hears you perfectly. His lips curve into a devilish grin against your neck as his fingers continue their teasing dance, sliding through your wetness with practised ease.

His thumb circles your clit with maddening slowness, and you can feel the heat swimming in your belly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. His other hand grips your hip, anchoring you to him as he rubs against you. The pressure of his cock, still slotted between your ass cheeks, is a constant reminder of how desperately he needs himself inside you.

When he plunges two fingers through your sobbing walls, you mewl loudly. Your hands clutch at his shirt as your arousal splashes across your lower abdomen, trickling down your thighs. The sensation makes your legs quiver, begging to clamp together, but he keeps them firmly apart, teasing you with a wicked smile. He purposefully pops his fingers out just to smear your slick juices over your entrance before brushing his thumb along your swollen clit, and then sliding back in.

You bite your lip, your knees buckling, choked moans escaping as you watch his fingers disappear beneath you. They stretch your cunt, his index and middle fingers screwing and twisting just enough to draw a series of desperate whimpers from your lips. The way they press against your sensitive, gummy walls makes you feel deliciously full.

“I-I need my cock in here like…yesterday,” he huffs out, his voice strained with lust. His eyes flicker between your face—your brows furrowed, jaw slack with uncontrollable pleasure—and your beautiful sex clenching around his fingers.

“Evan,” you moan again, more insistently this time, your tone quiet yet desperate. His fingers probe in and out, deep in your cunt at an excruciatingly slow pace, curling expertly until the knot in your stomach stiffens. You can feel yourself spasming around him, your body on the edge of bliss. 

You know you’re losing this battle, but a part of you doesn’t care. Not when he’s making you feel like this. 

“T-t-tell me what you want, baby,” he dares in a passionate whisper. He keeps working his fingers in sync with your choppy breaths, angling them just enough to tease your deeper spots.

“I want more,” you exhale, every word laced with despair. “Finish me up,” you plead, and your eyes lock onto him. His dick twitches needily, responding to every tug of his fingers and the wanting moans gushing from your throat.

He lets out a dark chuckle as his fingers pump in and out, his knuckles sinking in through your arousal. “Consider it done,” he fires back, his voice a low growl as he swipes his fingers left and right with rapid precision. The messy, obscene sounds of your slick, wet cunt echo through the room, making him impossibly harder.

Your thighs twitch and ache with every deep plunge, instinctively trying to close around his hand that’s practically fucking you into exquisite sensitivity. Your hand wraps around his forearm, an attempt to slow him down, but it’s like trying to stop a freight train with a feather. Your nails bite into his skin, forming little half-moon indentations.

He laughs breathlessly, his teeth scraping your sensitive flesh as he ruthlessly works you over. His eyes are on your flushed face from the side, watching how your expression shifts with every thrust, your cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. He smirks at the sound, utterly captivated by your body’s reactions.

“You sound so pretty,” he grunts, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milk small sobs out of you. “You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he hushes, lips caressing your neck. Your pussy practically moulds around his slender fingers, holding them captive as you claw at him, your orgasm building and rolling through you like a storm about to break.

Evan groans, his arm veins (aka your fetish) popping out, the muscles in his shoulders straining against his shirt as he picks up speed. Your moans become louder, your breathing erratic and desperate.

“Cum for me, baby girl, would you?” he sighs, smacking your ass with his free hand as his clothed erection rages against you, demanding attention.

You nod eagerly, your eyes darting down to his bulge, wanting to reach out and feel him through the fabric. But he’s quick to catch your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with surprising tenderness. “This is your moment,” he whispers, his voice filled with possessive intent. “I want you fully here with me, no distractions.”

Was that a man written by Olivia Laing, directed by Sofia Copolla and sung by Lana Del Rey? Just sayin’...

He dips inside you all the way to the hilt, upping his pace and rubbing tight figure eights against your clit like he’s discovered a new hobby. He mutters a string of curses under his breath as he watches your pussy swell around him, your clit throbbing under his relentless touch. You’re milliseconds away from an earth-shattering climax when an unexpected clatter slices through the air.

Rufus, your ever-watchful feline roommate/guardian, has knocked his metal off the dining table, sending it clanging across the floor like a gong of doom. His eyes are on you both with a judgmental glare, as if he’s caught you skipping class to make out behind the bleachers. It’s like he’s planned this interruption—a well-curated, meticulously premeditated offence.

You both flinch, gasping at the sudden chaos that shatters the moment. Evan snickers, reluctantly pulling away, his fingers shiny with the evidence of your disrupted freaky time. You lock eyes with Rufus, who’s perched on the table like a miniature tyrant, his tail flicking, clearly unfazed by your antics.

“Your son’s hungry,” Evan quips, smirking as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, sucking off your cum with exaggerated flair, humming at your taste. “Perfect timing, really. The little guy just wants to make sure you’re not having more fun than him.”

You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him as you smooth out your clothes with hurried hands, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Rufus is a more responsible and diligent adult than us,” you mutter, adjusting your top. “Honestly, he’d make a great personal assistant if he didn’t have such a lousy attitude.” 

Rufus merely blinks, unimpressed, as you dash off to the kitchen to grab his food, trying to ignore the lingering heat between your thighs. But behind you, Evan’s throaty chuckle reverberates across the room, making your knees weak all over again.

“Shoes, please,” you call over your shoulder as you scoop kibble into Rufus’ bowl, trying to maintain some authority. “We’re leaving, Evan… like now. And not a second later, or I’m dragging you by your shirt collar. Don’t make me put on my mum voice.” 

“Woo, feisty,” he teases, puckering his lips mischievously as he slides on his shoes, still flushed and grinning like a naughty schoolboy. You shoot him a glare, trying to stay serious, but your lips twitch with amusement.

He throws his hands up in feigned remorse, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine,” he concedes, though his eyes light up with mischief. “But I’m definitely picking up where I left off.” 

You glance back at him as you set Rufus’ food down. “And what does this mean, Peters?” you challenge him, tongue grazing your side teeth. Your curiosity is piqued, wondering just how far he’s willing to go once you’re back alone together.

Rufus sniffs his food approvingly, tossing you a look that says, Finally some service in this house as he begins to eat with regal disinterest, tail swishing like a sceptre.

Evan disappears briefly, and you hear him rummaging through his bag. When he returns, he’s got a small box behind his back, and the tension in the room skyrockets with each passing second.

He slowly pops the lid off, each moment stretching out as you watch, breathless with anticipation. “Are you gonna propose?” you squeak, already half-freaking out at the prospect.

He bursts out laughing. “Close enough… but not yet,” he cheers, eyes drown in yours, eager and mischievous, as you peek inside to find a burgundy bullet vibrator nestled in a cocoon of velvet.

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the object, a swirl of thoughts crashing through your mind. “You didn’t,” you gasp, eyes almost bulging off their sockets. 

Evan’s fingers stroke lightly over the smooth, silky silicone. “Oh, I did,” he murmurs, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “I want you to wear this. To the party.”

“You’re joking. What’s that for?” you ask, suspicion lacing your voice as you eye the device like it’s a ticking time bomb.

“It’s my hand’s substitute,” he quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thought it’d make the party more… stimulating,” he adds with a wink. “It’s a night out and a night in, all rolled into one.”

Your jaw drops as the implications hit you. “Evan, you wouldn’t dare in front of all those people.”

“Oh, yes, I would,” he counters, brandishing a small remote like it’s the ultimate power tool. “Let’s see if you can behave yourself,” he dares, his thumb hovering tantalisingly over the on-off button. “I’ll have you buzzing all night, baby. All highs, no lows.”

You shake your head, biting your lip between excitement and disbelief. “You’re impossible,” you giggle, your voice barely above a breathless whisper.

He steps closer, pulling you into a deep, searing kiss that leaves you breathless, his lips moving with a hunger that makes you tremble. “Only when it comes to you,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. “And I promise to be gentle…most of the time, ma’am,” he continues, tailing it all off with a teasing soldier salute.

The bass from Gorillaz’s Feel Good Inc. thumps through the walls as you step into the house. The party’s already in full swing, laughter and joyful chatter floating up from every corner. Evan’s hand is a warm, reassuring weight on your lower back, steering you through the crowd like he’s the captain of this chaos.

Your outfit is drawing more than a few admiring glances as you weave through the throng of partygoers. If only they knew about the little secret buzzing beneath it all—a pair of vibrating panties, locked and loaded, with Evan holding the remote like it’s his personal plaything. His grin is downright wicked, a mix of triumph and mischief, like he’s got you on a leash, promising both pleasure and torment. You swallow hard, anticipation pooling low in your belly.

As you tread past the other guests, you catch sight of a few familiar faces from past outings with Evan during the nine months you’ve been together. There’s Mike, the self-proclaimed beer pong king, who’s always boasting about his legendary tournaments, with Evan often being the unfortunate opponent. And then there’s Lily, your lovely girly pop, who wouldn’t be caught dead without her portable fan, waving it like she’s a Southern belle about to faint from the heat. 

You bump into Jake, your host, who’s holding court by the swimming pool with a group of friends. As soon as he spots you both, his face lights up, breaking into a wide grin.

“There they are! The dynamic duo!” Jake bellows, raising his solo cup in a toast as he swaggers over, pulling you both into a hearty bear hug.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Evan assures, his grin expanding. “Heard you were rolling out the red carpet just for us.”

“How else would I welcome the celebrities, eh?” Jake hoots, playfully thumping Evan’s arm like it’s a punching bag. “And look at my boy, all beefed up for Tron after that Dahmer famine. Y/N’s keeping you well-fed, I see,” he jests, wrapping Evan into a playful headlock and rubbing his head like a proud big brother.

Evan lets out a hearty laugh, pretending to struggle. “What can I say? She’s a miracle worker. Took me from beanpole to beefcake in record time!”

“Had to get him back on his feet, didn’t I?” you quip, watching Evan flex his muscles dramatically like he’s auditioning for a superhero movie. The exaggerated poses have you all in stitches. “Careful, those guns are a safety hazard,” you exclaim, poking his bicep.

Jake rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Well, you’ll need those muscles to handle the drinks tonight. They’re stronger than ever, so pace yourselves,” he warns, winking like he’s letting you in on juicy gossip.

You exhale loudly, placing the back of your hand to your forehead in mock drama. “Are we talking rocket-fuel strong? Got anything that won’t make me see double in two sips?” you ask, giving Jake a playful nudge.

Jake gasps in mock outrage, clutching his chest. “Hey, I’m practically a mixologist now,” he grumbles, acting deeply wounded by your lack of faith. 

Just then, you feel Evan’s hand slipping into his pocket. You know what he’s up to, but before you can react, your panties spring to life with a gentle buzz. The loud Maroon 5 playlist drowns out the sound, but it doesn’t stop the sudden bolt of pleasure that zips through you. You inhale sharply, eyes widening.

Evan inspects you with a sidelong look and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Everything okay, Y/N?” he asks, feigning innocence like he’s not the one flicking the damn remote buttons in his pocket.

You cast him a death-stare, running a shaky hand through your hair. “Oh, just peachy,” you croak, forcing a smile towards Jake while the vibrations catch deliciously against your clit and slit. It’s a struggle to keep your knees from buckling, but you’re determined not to give Evan the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, my love, would you?”

Evan grins, his expression the epitome of mischief. “Not a clue.” 

“Maybe it’s the party vibe getting to you,” Jake retorts, snapping his fingers as the music swells. “Let me whip you up something real quick. You’ll be singing my praises for my drink by the end of the night. Be right back.”

As soon as Jake’s out of earshot, you lean closer to Evan, lowering your voice to a hushed yet playful mumble. “You’re such a bastard,” you hiss, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as another wave of pleasure ripples through you. “I’m gonna get you back for this,” you mutter, but you bite your lip to supress your moans, dulling the sharpness of your threat.

His hearty laugh engulfs you, clearly showing how much fun he’s having with your delightful predicament. “I’d like to see you try, baby girl,” he taunts, giving your waist a gentle squeeze and your lips a set of loving pecks. “Besides, I think you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

You click your tongue and narrow your eyes at him, trying to act nonchalant despite the relentless vibrations. “You just wait, Mr. I-think-I’m-so-clever,” you begin, but he shuts you up by crashing his lips against yours. His tongue raids in your mouth, like he’s claiming it, while his left hand wanders up to fondle your breast with playful desperation.

Without warning, Lily sidles up beside you. “Hey guys,” she cries out, arms wide open as she air-kisses you both. “Oops, am I interrupting your get-a-room moment? Long time no see! Y/N, my stunner. What’s your secret? A killer workout routine, or just pure happiness? I swear, I’m trying to drop some fat, but those damn fries keep calling my name,” she rambles, pouting in frustration. 

You laugh nervously, struggling to focus on Lily’s chatter over the persistent, teasing pulse of the vibrator that Evan has intentionally set to a teasing low. “Uh… you know, Lily… I-I. It’s mostly yoga and... m-maybe...uh a little too much caffeine,” you stammer, doing your best to mask the delicious distraction fluttering between your legs. 

“Or maybe it’s a little too much of Evan’s company,” she teases with a mischievous wink. 

Evan chuckles, his eyes dancing with a roguish glint as he casts you a sidelong glance that says more than words ever could. “I like to think I’m a positive influence,” he quips, his hand tightening on your lower back as he plants a kiss on your forehead. His gaze hints at a playful secret, clearly plotting something.

Just then, Jake struts back over, handing you a drink with an exaggerated flourish. “One cocktail for the fair lady,” he declares dramatically. “Tell me this doesn’t taste like heaven.”

You take a sip, and the fruity concoction explodes on your tongue like a carnival parade. “Alright, I’ll give it to you, Jake. This one’s a keeper,” you cheer, nodding appreciatively.

Jake bows deeply, puffing out his chest with mock pride. “You’re welcome, Y/N!” he sings, standing tall with exaggerated poise, as if he’s accepting an award for best bartender. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, chicos, I’ve got more magic to conjure.” With a final spin and a wink, he leaves you and Evan to your own devices, his exit as theatrical as his entrance.

The garden is a dimly lit dance floor, pulsing with the beat of the music. You and Evan are wrapped up in each other, swaying to the rhythm.

“God, I love this song,” he purrs, his body pressed close to yours, moving in perfect harmony. “But I love you more.” 

“I love you too,” you mouth, smiling bashfully, as you reach up and tangle your fingers through his hair, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s soft at first, a teasing brush of lips, but swiftly escalates into something rougher. His tongue sweeps past your lips, exploring and tasting, invading your mouth. You lose yourself in the kiss, the world around you fading into a blur of tunes and arousal. 

A group of friends gathers around, joining in a spontaneous dance choreo. You raise your drink to your lips, savouring the moment, when suddenly the vibrations crank up, hitting you like a jolt of electricity. You cough, nearly choking on your drink and almost dropping the glass. A wave of pleasure crashes through you, finally making your knees buckle. You gasp loudly, your face burning bright red. Lily pats your back, her concern evident as she watches you with raised eyebrows, while Evan’s grin stretches impossibly wider.

Evan vs Y/N 15 - 0

As the night wears on, you’re deep in conversation with Lily about her latest dating disaster—a guy who thought karaoke night was a perfect first date and that feminism is just an overhyped fad—when Evan decides it’s the perfect moment to dial up the levels to the max because…he can. The panties whir harder, the palpitation surge ruthlessly. You clutch the edge of the table for support, covering your mouth to stifle any sounds, praying no one notices your red-hued cheeks.

Lily, ever observant, glances at you, her head tilted with curiosity. “You okay, Y/N?” she asks, frowning slightly with worry.

You force a twitching smile, your eyes watering as you nod vigorously. “Yeah, just...really into the party,” you slur, your words catching in your throat, and you hope your tone doesn’t give off the sweet agony you’re enduring.

Evan, ever the tease, smirks at you from across the room, clearly pleased with himself. He raises his glass in a mock toast, enjoying the little game he’s orchestrated.

You give him a look that promises retribution. You swear, you’re going to wipe that smug look off his face later.

Lily heads straight for the buffet, giving you a perfect chance to escape the outdoor mayhem. Realising the downstairs bathroom is occupied, you make your way to the one upstairs. Evan floats up behind you, his hands slipping around your waist. His beer bottle presses against your hip bones, and his hot breath against your ear makes your core shudder.

“Having fun?” he purrs, his tone velvety and inviting. Before you can catch a breath and reply, he spins you around and hammers his lips against yours. His tongue dives into your mouth again, taking charge with an eager frenzy that leaves your senses reeling. He’s kissed you a hundred times tonight, but each one sends you spinning into another freaking dimension.

You don’t mind the way his lips are bruising yours with each expert tilt of his head. His hands glide down, and with a playful smack on your ass, you groan into the kiss. He always kisses you senseless, leaving you breathless, aching and craving for more. 

You draw in a shaky breath as you try to regain your footing. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” you coo, tucking a stray curl of hair behind his ear, “or I’d be prepping up some serious revenge right about now.”

Evan lets out a playful giggle, his lips brushing yours as he leans in for another fiery kiss. “I’d be seriously disappointed if you weren’t,” he rasps against your mouth, his voice hoarse and filled with mischievous intent.

“You’re such a troublemaker.” Once again, you try to sound stern, but the twinkle in your eye gives you away as you start for the bathroom.

But Evan’s having none of it. He slams his arm against the doorframe, effectively boxing you in. “I know,” he growls softly, his voice laced with lust. “But you love it.”

“You wish,” you hum, teasingly pinching his cheek. As you try to sidestep him and go back to the party outside, he shifts with you, his body melding into yours, blocking your every escape route.

“We’re not leaving until I fuck you.”

A shudder of arousal runs down your spine at his statement and the gruffness of his voice. You arch an eyebrow, trying to stay composed despite the heat rising between you. “Do I look like an idiot to you? Begging you for my freedom?”

He chuckles darkly as he gives you a once-over, his eyes flashing with raw desire. “No, you look like you want me inside you,” he fires back, your heart thumping wildly like it’s going a mile in a minute, and you struggle to swallow past the lump in your throat. “Y/N, I don’t think you quite understand how much I want you.” There’s a short distance between you as he’s looming over you, his breath scorching hot on your neck. “Every time you try to move, it just hits me how badly I need you.”

You shiver intensely as his words ignite a fiery thrill inside you. Trying to ignore the way his body is pressed firmly against yours, you clear your throat and force a playful grin. “Well, you know, a little public pressure never hurt anyone.”

His lips form a wicked smile as he walks you backwards, step by step until your back hits open the door of one of the guest rooms. Pushing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarls, “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now. If I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m taking you out there in front of the whole damn party.”

You can feel the hardness of his muscular chest through the thin fabric of your top as his hands move over your skin, with a confident yet affectionate grasp. They cup your ass beneath your skirt and drag you closer. You think you can tamp down the soft groan trapped in your throat, but you’re sorely mistaken when it tumbles down, strained and punchy, without remorse. 

“So what’s it gonna be, Y/N? In this room or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your call,” he insists, his tone both commanding and mischievous, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I-in here,” you stutter.

The Cheshire cat smirk you receive in return spikes your nerves even higher. “Bingo.”

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, he hoists you up into his arms with powerful ease. The door clicks shut behind you with a definitive thud as he smothers the little squeal ripped from you with his lips. The new angle allows him to roughen the kiss even more, and you feel every tensing muscle of his body against yours.

He wastes no time—he dives in like he’s starving, tongue slashing into your mouth with hungry urgency, fighting for dominance like always. His slurred groans vibrate against your lips, his tongue darting and flicking against yours. A zing of electricity shoots straight to your pussy, and you’re clumsily fumbling with his clothes to get them off him—buttons popping, belt clinking, a flurry of desperate hands.

In a swift, flawless motion, he strips you off your skirt and top, tossing them aside with a flick of his wrist before gently laying you on the bed. You perk yourself up on your elbows, staring up at your boyfriend’s towering stature. Your chest heaves with exhilaration, imagining the joy of having his load spilling inside you.

Still holding his beer like a trophy, he unzips the fly of his trousers with excruciating suspense. He shuffles them down just past his ass until his cock bounces out. You gasp at the sight; he really is hard for you already, if the angry-looking vein bulging from his thick length is anything to go by. He’s throbbing—you can see his dick viciously twitching with needy desire, sending another gushing wave of slick pouring out of your eager pussy.

As he kicks off his pants, he pounces on top of you, his rock-hard erection rubbing continuously against your slick folds. His mouth slips down your collarbone, igniting trails of fire as they move up to your neck. Each kiss is a jolt as his lips sloppily slide along yours, both of you swallowing each other’s moans.

“I’ve been dreaming about those sweet lips of yours all night,” he murmurs, his voice a heavy, lustful whisper that vibrates through you. “But not these ones.” He nibbles gently at your nipple, his breath hot and sensual against your flesh. He releases the area with a resounding pop before continuing his sweet ordeal, kissing up the column of your throat to your jaw and then finally your lips. “I wanna make out with your bottom lips until you crumble to dust in my hands.”

The thought of his mouth on you, his nose deep on the ridge of your clit while his tongue plunges deep into your gummy walls, lost in the sauce, sends a spark of excitement rushing through your veins. Those wet, slow licks across your slit until his chin drips with your juices…my god.

But as his hand and mouth drift lower to your sensitive bud, your playful defiance takes over. With a mischievous grin, you flip him over with a strength that makes even you recoil in surprise. You straddle him, pressing your palms against his firm chest, practically caging him beneath you with a triumphant smile.

“Sorry, baby boy, but you’ve got me so worked up with your freaking remote that I need you deep inside now. Ravage me,” you demand, your voice a sultry growl.

That sputters a chuckle from him as he spanks your ass, biting his lips, anticipation building to a fever pitch. With a gentle but firm grip, he takes your chin between his fingers, locking eyes with you. His dark orbs seem to pierce right through your soul. “Then, I guess I’ll just have to enjoy the ride,” he whispers, his smirk promising a world of velvety pleasures.

led with equal parts lust and admiration. His hands massage your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his forefingers before gripping your thighs, nails digging in just enough to make you shiver with want.

As you hover over him, poised to take on cowgirl duties, a sudden commotion from the hallway erupts through the haze of passion. Voices, loud and furious, yank you back to reality like a bucket of ice water splashed over your heated skin.

“What was that?” you gasp, freezing mid-motion, eyes wide darting to the door.

Evan sits up, concern etched on his face. His hands are still steadying your hips, but his body is in full alert mode. “Damn it,” you whisper-shout as something heavy shatters against the wall outside. Your pulse hammers as you scramble off Evan, instinctively clutching the sheet to your chest to cover your nudity.

His protective instincts kick in immediately. He wraps his arms around you protectively, pulling you into his warm embrace. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, tenderly kissing the crown of your head. His voice is a soothing balm against the tension—the voices outside now distinct as those of a man and a woman trapped in a fierce argument. “Probably just some drunk jerks. I’ll handle this. You stay behind,” he commands, his expression hardening, a deep furrow in his brow as he reaches for his clothes. 

Together, you sneak toward the door, the shouting growing clearer as you get closer. You exchange puzzled looks, trying to figure out what’s going on out there.

You press your ear to the door, listening intently. But then the angry voices suddenly shift—what was a heated argument dissolves into… laughter? You blink in confusion, pulling back slightly.

“Is that... Mike?” you mumble, recognising the unmistakably boisterous laugh of his friend, mingling with a few others.

Evan lets out a breath he’s been holding, shaking his head with a mix of relief and annoyance. “Those idiots,” he spits out, sighing, as his shoulders relax and the tension of the false alarm dissipates. “I swear it’s like a damn sitcom in here sometimes,” he scoffs. His hands find your waist again, his touch warm and familiar, as if he’s trying to rekindle the heat that was simmering between you just moments ago.

“Maybe we should go back to the party,” you suggest, your voice a little sheepish, trying to ensure everything’s okay. 

“No way I’m letting you go,” he croons, his lips hovering dangerously over the soft, greedy slope of your neck. His hard, thick cock is just a whisper out of reach, teasing and taunting you with its nearness. 

You hiccup a gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall with a force that makes your knees wobble. His mouth captures yours in a sloppy kiss that wipes away any remnants of anxiety, replacing them with a renewed surge of burning desire. 

“I’m so wet for you,” you breathe in half-protest, half-plea as he trails kisses down your neck. 

“I can tell,” he mumbles, chuckling against the steamy flesh of your boobs as he slides our panties off. Your breaths come in tattered and frayed bursts as he sheathes himself entirely inside your slick, sobbing sex with one smooth yet forceful thrust. Your nails dig harshly into the firm muscle of his bicep as you whimper, jaw dropping open in pure, blissful shock.

“H—Holy shit,” you yelp, your voice high-pitched and shaky as you squeeze your eyes shut, surrendering to his delicious torture.

With your legs twined tightly around his torso, you silently beg him to dive deeper. He obliges, rocking back and forth with a primal intensity, his hips slapping against your thighs. “Take it, baby, you can fuckin’ take this cock,” he growls, his voice raw with lust as he slams into you with merciless pumps. “It was made for you, just for you-u.”

He flashes you a victorious grin, his eyes half-lidded and intense. He scrunches his cute nose with every thrust that drives his stiff length deeper into your core, his balls pulsing against your tender slit. He bites your bottom lip to muffle his own groans, his breathing slipping out in ragged gasps.

So hot. He’s so hot.

“Ahh, yes. Give it to me rough,” you beg, your legs tightening around him as your mewling grows stronger. 

“You sound so fucking pretty,” he pants. He nibbles and sucks on your lips before his tongue enters your mouth, tangling with yours in a tantalising assault. You whine as his thick girth slides out inch by inch until only the tip nestles teasingly inside you.

He’s fully pressed into you, his hot breath a mix of short and shuddering huffs against your neck. He pauses for a moment, burying his face in the crook of your neck, soaking in the scent of your skin as if trying to memorise every part of you. “I don’t wanna finish that soon,” he laughs breathlessly, fighting to keep control.

“You got me seeing stars, baby boy,” you whisper huskily, your words barely audible over the pounding of your own heart. Your lips brush against his ear, planting an affectionate peck that sends a tremor through his core. As he quickens his pace, his eyes roll back, his hands gripping firmly onto your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

He leans back, his abs flexing with each powerful pull of his chest and arm muscles as he slams back into you again. He’s so shredded, and you can’t help but skim a few teasing fingers down his chiselled pecs. So ripped, and you’re not missing the opportunity to trace a few veins that prod against your fingers. He gasps delightfully at your touch, his cock convulsing inside you, driven wild by the way the brief gape of your pussy grips him like a vice.

“Fuck, you’re like a glove on my dick,” he moans, his voice catching as he gazes down at the way your cunt hungrily swallows and slurps him deeper. The filthy, lewd sounds of your groans and bodies melting together skin-against-skin reverberate through the room, echoing your shared need.

Unable to utter a word without screaming, you bite down on his neck, leaving a dark purple bruise. “So good—cock feels so good in me. Fucking me just riiight,” you cry out against his lips. Your voice rises in pitch, the words dissolving into incoherent moans as your nails rake his back, leaving tiny red crescents in their wake.

He lets out a dark chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes fixing onto yours with a feral intensity. “You’re markin’ me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?” he grunts, squeezing your thighs with a possessive grasp, a crooked smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

You nod faintly, a soft whimper escaping your lips as your fingers tangle in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. You’re trying to keep it together, you really are. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly strokes that delicate, spongy spot inside you turns your brain to utter mush. It leaves you no option but to spiral further into bliss and moan like a whore. 

Evan tuts, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His voice is coated in a low rasp, the words gliding into your ears like a warm cuddle. His lips curl up in perverse satisfaction as he shoves three of his fingers into your mouth, eyes glittering with enthusiasm.

You hum around them, staring at him with a lustful challenge. You gargle around his large hand, jolting each time he rams into you, drool spilling from your chin down to your tits only to finally land on his lower stomach and dick.

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Gotta let everyone know how good I’m fucking you?” he taunts, his tone a hoarse, sensual growl. His hips snap forward, and your body responds instinctively, every nerve lit up with pleasure. 

You keep on sucking on his fingers, your eyes hooded with desire, each swirl of your tongue around his digits drawing a ragged breath from him. With a soft thud, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he runs them down your body, tracing a path from your lips to your breasts, down your stomach, and finally to the apex of your thighs.

“Right, I need to take stricter measures, then,” he mutters, his voice like gravel, as he carries you to the bed, still buried deep inside you. You gasp at the sudden movement, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

He sets you down in the middle of the bed and gruffs, “Bend over f’me,” his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You barely have a moment to comply before your ass is met with a rude spank, forcing a sharp moan out of you and flipping you over on your chest. 

His voice is a deep rumble, and you feel yourself pulse between your legs every time he speaks in these rough low decibels. 

“Mhm, don’t get shy. Let’s see that arch again, baby girl…like the good slut you are,” he urges, and your face gets smashed right into the crimson coloured sheets, his fingertips softly caressing down your exposed spine and over your ass facing skywards, his touch both gentle and demanding. “Let’s see my favourite wet pussy, best piece of ass I’ve ever seen,” he growls, admiring the view.

“E-Evaann,” you drag out, your voice breaking as you suck in a shaky breath. It’s almost humiliating how much he makes your pussy clench and drip for him, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he's looking at you like that and goes to great lengths (no pun intended) to satisfy you.

He rubs his hand against the stinging part of your ass, soothing and igniting at once, before aligning his leaky tip with your entrance. Your cunt is soaked, practically begging for him, profusely sweltering hot with your own slippery slick. He licks his lips at the sight as he smacks his fat cock against your puffed folds, the sound wet and filthy. 

“Don’t tease me, p- please,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder at him as you balance on all fours, your voice barely a breath above a whimper.

He lets out a sinister throaty cackle as he leans down, staring at your dripping cunt before rubbing his fingertips right down between your slit. “Quiet, baby. I’ll fuckin’ tease you if I want,” and you moan, feeling the pad of his thumb smear the lustrous trail of cum near your hole and back down towards your clit. “I love hearing you beg,” he teases, but it’s short-lived as he slides the head of his cock inside you, stretching you inch by inch with delicious pleasure.

“My big boy, railing me so damn well,” you babble out as his thrusts become faster and harsher, your eyes widening once his lengthy dick hits against that perfect, sensitive spot so effortlessly. His sharp hips are so unapologetically mean, each snap of his body forcing you forward and back into him like a yo-yo he’s toying with.

He’s drilling into you at full speed, the headboard bashing against the wall in time with his thrusts. Your thighs jitter with ecstasy at just how nastily he’s using you, your needy walls biting around his shaft as he reels you back into his sculpted pelvis. You let out sweet sobs that fall on deaf ears as he practically splits you open each and every single time.

“D-don’t stop. F-f-fuck me, Evan. Right there, ‘s fuckin’ big,” you pant, your mouth hanging open, more spews of whines leaving you as he accelerates his hips ever further. The bed screams beneath you, each creak sounding like it’s about to give way, and you’re almost sure it’s going to break. “More, more… please,” you yelp as he thoroughly swivels inside you, wearing you thin.

“Shit, you feel.so.damm.good,” he growls, pumping even deeper with every word only to grab one of your wrists and restrain it behind your back. Your limbs grow knobbly as the heavy and thick base of his cock smacks against your ass. You’re dizzy, insanely so—your eyes rolling back and the wet hit of sounds of your desperate cunt fill the room, blending heavenly with your breathy mewling that matches his pace.

Docile dark irises meet yours as you look over your shoulder. Raw, guttural grunts die from the back of his throat as he allows you a moment to seize control, letting you rut back and forth, bouncing against his swollen, throbbing cockhead. The slanting curve in your back deepens, elevating the spectacle before him and inviting him to spank you again. You watch him bite his lip, his brows knitting together with ravenous desire as he throws his head back. Your name spills from his lips in a breathless mantra, and you reciprocate with endless whines. It’s your personal plea for more, for everything he has to give. 

“Fffffuck, keep going,” he hisses, peering down at the way your sobbing cunt fervently takes him in. “Such a good girl—fuck, wanting my cock,” he mumbles, and you feel a rippling wave of goose bumps running down his body as you walls tense around him.

Shivering breaths ghost down against your sweaty skin as his pace falters and weakens, humping into you with his mouth prying open, falling slack. A gasp wretches from his throat as the melting crown of his cock smacks up against your g-spot over and over until you’re seeing nothing but pure white.

With a cry, your orgasm crests and crashes over you, your folds convulsing with pure euphoria. You stretch upwards, and he seals your lips in a steamy kiss from above, consuming the sounds of your sweet release with affectionate back rubs and a victorious grin against your mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, your hips bucking and jerking as the violent aftershocks of your high wrack through you. Evan holds you tight, chasing his own climax.

“Who owns this little pussy?” he hisses through gritted teeth, hitting against your cervix a few times before shooting ropes of hot cum deep into your womb. It’s abundant and warm, your pussy continues to constrict and pulse around his length. He whimpers curses into your neck as he collapses against you, twitching and pouring generous amounts of himself into you.

Rough tides of overstimulation wash over you as Evan climbs on top of you, his lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Your mind is still foggy from riding out the seismic waves of your orgasm, but a nagging thought breaks through: you’re in someone else’s house, and you need to leave things as you found them.

“The sheets,” you gasp, gently pushing him off the bed. Baffled and out of breath, he observes with hooded eyes as you kneel down and begin to lick and suck the remaining creamy love from his spent cock.

“Oh God, Y/N,” he moans, his eyes widening in shock as his fingers tangle in your hair. “You’re killing me,” he whines, his voice a mix of pleasure and overstimulation. His lungs heave with each breath as you clean off the mass of cum he’s dumping into your mouth, drool spilling down your chin. Your mind swims in ecstasy from the adrenaline-fuelled, earth-shaking orgasm, and you moan against his shaft, the vibrations sending shivers through him.

The moment is pure, unfiltered bliss, and you’re lost in it—until the door suddenly flies open, banging against the wall.

“Evan!” a voice yelps. I look up in shock as Jeremy, another close friend of Evan’s, stands frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed and red-faced at the sight of us. His cheeks flushed crimson as he averts his gaze, embarrassed to have walked in on such an intimate moment.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he gasps, his voice cracking as he takes in the dishevelled scene before him. Evan, caught mid-stumble, face turning beet red, fumbles for his clothes, his stammers response coming out in a strangled mix of embarrassment and confusion.

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper.

“It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.”

Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

To be continued...

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[simp4wom3n]

Celebrity Crush Pt.2

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Reader

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Still in disbelief that Jenna asked them on a date, Y/n tries to make the most of living her dream, including going on a date with her dream girl. (y/f/o = your favourite outfit) ~ Word Count: 1.859k ~ Warnings: pure fluffff

A/N: Hi!! It’s here everybodyyyyy! I tried to make it as good as possible seeing how much you guys loved pt1 and begged for pt2. Hopefully I did it justice and you enjoy this one just as much or more than the first <3

Part 1 ~ Part 2

The day had arrived. Tonight you were going on a date with THE Jenna Ortega. Your celebrity crush, whom you had been swooning over for years, had asked you out on a date. Despite having days for it to sink in, you don’t think it ever will.

'What is my life?' you wondered as you awoke, lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, still in complete disbelief that this is happening to you. Shaking yourself awake, you roll over to your bedside table to check your phone, where you immediately notice another message from Jenna.

Jenna

“Morning sleepyhead”

“Still up for tonight I’m hoping?”

Since she first messaged you a few days ago, you and her have been talking nonstop. The two of you had an irrefutable connection. You had talked about almost everything under the sun and yet the conversation never got dry or ceased. There was obviously a bit of teasing from Jenna about your tweets, however it just opened up the opportunity for you to flirt - which you certainly weren’t complaining about.

Y/n

“Morning cutieee”

“Of course I am I wouldn’t miss it for the world”

Jenna

“I’ll see you at 6 then <3”

Before you knew it the clock struck 5, and it was time to get ready. You hop into the shower, your playlist playing over your speakers, to freshen up and hopefully relieve some of your nerves. As the warm water cascades your body and down the drain, you insecurities are drowned with it.

You walked to your closet after exiting the shower, quickly drying your hair and wrapping yourself in a towel. You've never felt so much pressure whilst choosing an outfit. You needed an outfit that was perfect for a first impression, but as you looked through your closet, you weren't overwhelmed by options. “Ok so… effort but not too much effort, colour but no too much colour, casual yet fancy, masculine yet feminine… easy” you sighed as you began pulling out various items of clothing and laying them out on your bed.

You eventually settled on y/f/o, with some light makeup and your hair out and styled like you do day-to-day, not wanting to appear desperate to impress - although you definitely were. With one final look in the mirror, you grabbed your keys and headphones, threw on a jacket, and walked out the door. Checking your phone as you made you way onto the street for the brisk 10 minute walk to the restaurant, the time read 5:50. ‘Perfect’ you thought, not wanting to arrive too early or too late. Everything had to be perfect.

With your on-repeat playlist playing softly in your ears as you walk along the illuminated streets, despite your first date nerves, you can’t help but smile giddily as each step carries you closer and closer to finally meeting the girl of your dreams. As the restaurant comes into view, you slow down your pace as you once again pull out your phone. ‘5:59’. With a deep breath, you cross the road, putting away your headphones as you approach the glass door. Opening the door, you exchange pleasantries with the staff at the door as you scan the restaurant in search of a particular brunette. When your e/c eyes finally land on her figure, she was wearing this outfit, and you have to stop your jaw from dropping to the floor as your eyes widened at her beauty.

Originally looking at her phone, she must have noticed the time as her head picks up and her eyes travel towards the entrance, towards you. Her eyes light up as they meet yours, butterflies erupting in your stomach as her lips curve into a smile. Your smile matches hers as you walk towards the table, as you do so, she places her phone in her blazer pocket and stands up.

“Hi!” you smile brightly, embracing her in a long awaited hug despite your mixture of excitement and nerves, a hug she instantly reciprocates. “Hi! How are you?!? You look amazing by the way” she returns as she pulls out of the embrace, both of you taking your seats. “Oh stop it have you looked in a mirror recently?” your compliment causing her cheeks to brighten slightly, “I’ve never been better. I still feel like I’m dreaming. Both about this” you gesture between the two of you, “and all the press and attention, its insane” you chuckle as you just admire her for a moment, the corners of your lips gently upturned. “How about you?” “I’m good. I mean it’s been a stressful week. I had some long and tiring days on set, but I have to say this is definitely a highlight. You are definitely the highlight of my week” she gently smiles at you, warmth spreading across your cheeks as she flatters you.

Thankfully your embarrassment was saved by the waiter coming to your table, giving you the opportunity to compose yourself whilst Jenna was distracted. If she was going to keep flustering you this easily you were going to need a few drinks. You both ordered and the conversation flowed. As cheesy as it sounds to say, it feels like you have known Jenna for ages. Was that possibly due to the fact that you have been one of her biggest fans for the past few years… maybe, but the connection between the two of you was still undeniable.

Throughout dinner, you find yourself drifting between states of pure joy, and of pure disbelief. Your eyes were essentially glued to Jenna, captivated by her beauty and how, despite being in the spotlight for so many years, she has managed to maintain her humanity, and is just as sweet, and as caring as she appears on screen. Never in your life did you picture yourself here, essentially living your dream. You had your dream job, which allowed you to meet incredible people and travel to incredible places, and you were on a date with your dream girlfriend. You have no idea what you did to deserve this, but there is nothing you wouldn’t do to preserve it.

Which is why, after dinner, you refused to let your night end there. “I’m going to be completely honest with you, I don’t want tonight to end yet. Like I refuse.” her eyes softened at your statement, “What do you say to going on a walk? I know a cute park not too far from here?” Her eyes seem to study you for a moment, almost admiring you - again how is this happening? you have no idea. “I’d love to.” she replied softly. “Perfect”.

After paying the bill, the two of you got up from your seats and headed to the door, thanking the staff along the way. You made sure to walk ahead to hold the door open for her as she exited, receiving an adoring smile for your efforts. “M’lady” you joked, bowing as she walked out laughing with you following swiftly on her tail. Walking out together, you are met with the bitter cold of the night air, the gentle gusts of wind rustling the trees that line the streets. “This way. It’s not too far” you explain, gesturing in the direction of the park, one you often went to when you needed a moment of solitude.

The night had mellowed out as you walked to the park, entertained by relaxed chatter and simply basking in each others presence. Somewhere along the way, Jenna had slipped her hand into yours, your fingers interlocking intimately. The moment you felt her touch, a warmth spread throughout your chest as your lips broke into a giddy smile. Once again you found yourself in a state of pure disbelief. You would think that at this point it would have sunk in, yet how anyone could ever get used to living their dream you would never understand. How Jenna Ortega picked you, of all people, to ask out on a date, you would never understand.

As you approach the park, your thumb brushing over her knuckles, you guide her towards your favourite spot. Walking through the quiet park, although almost eerie, brings you an incredible sense of calmness as you walk through the all too familiar paths. You eventually lead Jenna towards a large tree that overlooks a quiet lake. It was on a bench under said tree that you often spent your afternoons, sat listening to music and trying to escape from the world.

You give Jenna’s hand a reassuring squeeze as you lead her over to said bench, hoping it would also offer her the feeling of tranquility it so often offered you. As you sit on the bench, looking out onto the dimly lit lake, the wind and leaves playing a sweet melody above your heads, you feel calm. Noticing Jennas slight shivering next to you, you are quick to take off your jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, earning an appreciative smile from the girl. “It’s beautiful” she whispers, her attention directed to the lake in-front of her, the reflection of the dim park lights reflecting off of it’s calm surface. “Yeah it is” you reply just as faintly.

Except you weren’t talking about the lake. Or the park. The only thing you could focus on, was her. Sat next to you with your jacket wrapped around her shoulders, the faint lights reflecting off her features perfectly, looking ethereal against the dull glow. Eventually noticing your gaze, she turns her head to look at you, her brown eyes meeting your e/c ones. Your admiration for her must have been obvious as her face softens, her eyes even glancing towards your lips. “Did you mean it?” she asks in a faint whisper. “Did I mean what?” “The tweets. Did you mean them?” your lips twitch into a slight smile at the mention of your tweets, the very things that brought you to this moment. “Every single word” you confess.

Now it was your turn to glance at her lips, watching as she subtly catches her bottom lip between her teeth. Even in the faint light, her face still glowed as you admired it, adjusting yourself as you slowly begun to close the distance. With one last hesitant look at her eyes, which were still locked on your lips, you brought your hands up, resting them on her cheeks, and leaned in, connecting your lips in a slow, gentle kiss. Jenna sighs softly as her hands wrap delicately around your neck. At first tentative, you begin to move your lips against hers. As she reciprocates, it feels like the world has stopped. You forget everything. You experience real peace. You feel nothing but her. You just want the time to stop. In that moment, you feel almost certain that you must be dreaming.

As you part, breathless, your lips, which already ache at the lack of her warmth, crack into a smile as your eyes meet hers once again. “Come back to mine?” you question hesitantly with a chuckle, watching as her smile grows as she grabs ahold of your hands. “I’d like that”

-———————————————taglist——————————————-

@nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805

[heich0e]

yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 6 - takes place the night following part 5, tw the girlies are fighting (literally), tw mention of blood, happy belated birthday yakuza!shinsuke i want you to step on me series masterlist

The Inarizaki compound is an immaculately maintained estate.

The grounds are vast, tucked away in a quiet corner of Hyogo, just distant enough from the city to feel private. The buildings on the property are old, and traditional in style, but they were built to last and have been cared for to ensure it. The compound is as imposing today as the day it was first built, a truth diligently seen to over the years as its care has passed between hands from one head of the family to the next. It stands as a testament to the power and the influence of those who inherit and inhabit it; a reflection of them built in timber and stone.

Nothing on the property is out of place or unkempt. Every shrub, every blade of grass, every flower in the garden is carefully reared and pruned. Every floor diligently swept. Every surface cleared of any trace of dust. Every window polished to a spotless shine that reflects the sun that looks brightly down upon the sprawling plot of land. 

And underneath the Inarizaki compound—in the labyrinthine system of corridors and dim, damp rooms where the sun doesn’t reach—the same diligence, the same control, exists too.

“Well, well, well—would ya look who it is.”

On a ratty leather sofa in one such room, deep below the well-tended grounds, Atsumu lays sprawled with his head tipped back lazily over the arm rest. On the other side of the wide room, a figure stands before him after just stepping through the door—though, given the blonde’s current orientation, he’s upside-down in his line of sight.

Suna’s expression is notably flat—his mouth drawn into a tight, thin line—regardless of whether or not it’s viewed from the right way up.

“How nice of ya to finally join us,” Atsumu continues, picking himself up off the sofa so he’s sitting upright. He turns in his seat to glance over at his brother who's slumped down into a chair not far from him, fiddling with one of his favourite knives. Atsumu snort a little to himself. “‘Specially after ya kicked us outta yer place this mornin’.”

Suna says nothing in response.

The blonde twin smirks, peeking over at him again. 

“So, how’s our little Yua-chan?” 

If looks could kill, Osamu’s long-held dream of being an only child would have come true a hundred times over in an instant.

“Enough, Tsumu,” his twin grunts, flicking the butterfly knife in his hands closed. “Yer bein’ a slimy little fuck, ’n I’m not patchin’ ya up if he kicks yer ass.”

Atsumu huffs, a look of mild betrayal twisting at his features.

“My own brother,” he laments, a hand melodramatically clasped to his chest. Osamu flips him off with a roll of his eyes, scarcely paying him any attention at all.

With a laugh, Atsumu pitches himself back onto the sofa, snuggling down into the worn old leather to make himself comfortable. His head lolls to the side and his gaze travels once more to the man on the other side of the room who still has yet to venture much further beyond the doorway. 

Osamu tucks his knife into the breast-pocket of his button-down shirt before reaching down beside his seat to grab one of the cans of beer he has resting at his feet in a plastic convenience store bag.

“Too bad ya didn’t bring her along, Sunarin. We could really use somethin’ nice to look at around here.” The blonde sighs almost wistfully, but the subtle curl at the corner of his mouth is unmistakably nefarious. “Pretty thing like her could be a huge boost fer morale. ‘Specially with those tits.”

Suna’s hauling Atsumu off the sofa before Osamu even has time to crack the tab on his drink.

“Get off’a me, ya psycho!” the blonde yelps as he hits the cold cement floor, but his cry falls only on deaf (or otherwise completely uncaring) ears.

In an attempt at defence, Atsumu throws a wide, flailing punch, but it doesn’t land. Suna’s got his shirt-collar tightly wrapped around his fist, and with one strong tug he drags his unsuspecting opponent forward, flipping Atsumu onto his chest on the ground. The blonde lets out a pitiful, wheezing grunt as Suna drops a knee to his spine, keeping him pinned, and takes a fistful of his peroxide locks in his hand to roughly draw his head back.

“Just wait," Atsumu grunts, as he tries to free himself from Suna's hold. "I’m gonna fuckin’ kil—“

Osamu opens his beer. The hiss of carbonation only vaguely mutes the sound of fist meeting flesh.

After all these years, the younger of the two Miya twins has learned that when his sibling picks a fight, it’s usually better just to let nature run its course. Sure, he intervenes sometimes if it’s really needed. After all, it’s still his brother—and Osamu’s not one to shy away from a good fight either, though he prefers that they be justified. But if Atsumu gets himself into a scrap, particularly when it comes to infighting like this, Osamu’s generally pretty happy to let him get knocked around a bit.

Not that he’ll ever learn a lesson from it.

Plus, Suna rarely ever gets this fired up. There’s a bit of fun to seeing Atsumu get his ass handed to him by the characteristically apathetic brunette. Osamu’s seen what Suna’s capable of plenty of times, and knows his particular handiwork well, but in the thick of a fight he doesn’t ever really have time to appreciate the distinctly feral way that Rintarou fights—the placid-faced brutality of it—so for once he just sits back and settles in to enjoy the show.

He’s not even halfway through his beer when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching on the concrete floor of the corridor outside, leading towards them. He pauses with the can held to his lips as two figures step into the room, silhouetted in the doorway by the harsh fluorescent light flooding in from the hallway behind them.

The skirmish in the centre of the room stalls upon the newcomers' unexpected arrival—both parties panting raggedly as they shove the other away, separating from the lock of their brawl.

“Get up.”

Neither of the men fighting dare to question the order, nor the man that it comes from.

Suna and Atsumu both stand from the floor, quietly adjusting their rumpled clothes. They keep their eyes averted under the heavy, disappointed gaze of the man who approaches them in unhurried, measured steps. With their gazes downturned, a pair of neatly polished shoes is all they can see when he comes to a stop in front of them.

“What’s all this about?” 

When neither of the guilty parties opt to speak up in the wake of the question that was posed, the silence in the room sours.

The man sighs.

He turns on his heel towards Osamu, and the dark-haired Miya struggles to meet his gaze.

“Atsumu started it,” the younger man finally mutters, taking another long, much-needed swig from his beer.

“Rat,” his twin hisses under his breath from across the room.

“Quiet.”

Kita doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t even lift a hand.

Atsumu flinches all the same at the command.

The slighter man, dressed in a nice, neatly-pressed suit, looks between the two battered men in front of him.

“Someone gonna tell the boss what happened here, or what?” Aran remarks from the other side of the room, his tone dry and unenthusiastic—it’s far from the first time he’s broken up one of Atsumu’s squabbles, after all. He's leaning leisurely now against the metal frame of the heavy, industrial door as he watches everything unfold—having not even bothered crossing the threshold into the dingy little space that serves as a makeshift lounge of sorts. He knew his involvement was unlikely to be needed.

He's outranked by his company, after all. 

“Suna went nuclear ‘cuz I made a little joke about some girl,” Atsumu complains, ready to talk now it would seem, as blood drips down his philtrum from his nose.

Kita’s eyes flicker to Suna, still slouching indolently at Atsumu’s side with his eyes directed away.

“A girl?” Shinsuke remarks thoughtfully. “What girl?”

“Just some girl Suna’s fuck—seein’,” Atsumu quickly alters his word choice in favour of something less profane when Kita’s eyes meet his. “Samu and I ran into her at his place this mornin’, naked as the day she was born.” As though he simply can’t help himself, like one final swing in the fight, the blonde tacks on one last pointed: “Interestin’ sight to say the least.”

Suna’s face is as expressionless as ever when he finally looks up to meet Kita’s stare, having avoided it for as long as he possibly could. The highest ranking member of the Inarizaki syndicate meets his eyes, his own expression pensive.

“Not the same one ya came to speak with me about this morning, surely?” 

Suna’s nose twitches slightly.

Osamu stills, half-way through the motion of lifting his drink to his lips again, his thirst forgotten in the wake of the remark.

Atsumu seems surprised too, somewhere under all the reddish-swelling on his face.

Even Aran's curiosity seems to be piqued.

“This girl’s makin’ ya behave rashly,” Kita comments. The judgement is conversational in tone but still biting—even-tempered and just but somehow all the more damning.

Red flushes into the tips of Suna’s ears.

“I’ll make myself clear, ‘cause it seems like I didn’t in our earlier conversation. It’s neither my place nor my desire to get my hands dirty in the personal matters of yer life. Those affairs are no concern of mine,” Kita says calmly, his eyes fixed so raptly to Rintarou’s face that anyone would be unnerved, much less a subordinate. The older man pauses then, as though thinking quite seriously about what to say next. 

Kita does this often: prolonged silences not unusual in the middle of his conversations, as he considers the information available him and his path forward. It’s reminiscent of a man playing go, taking time to carefully choose his next move. 

“However,” Kita finally adds, the lines of his face hardening as he comes to his decision, “what is my concern is this family, and it’s my responsibility to intervene when somethin’, or someone, jeopardizes it.”

Suna’s eyes drop to his feet as he nods stiffly, his gaze lowered in shame.

“Suna,” the Oyabun’s voice is low and gentle, which in many ways makes it worse. “You owe yer heart a debt for the way it’s served you ’til now, for the things that it’s helped bear, and I don’t claim to deny that. But don’t forget what debt you owe to this family. What obligation ya have to yer brothers. You can’t allow a temporary novelty to confuse where yer priorities lie.”

The dingy, dank room is quiet for a moment, and then Kita sighs, turning on his heel towards the door. Before he steps away, he glances towards Suna again.

“Go home, Rintarou.”

Everyone in the room freezes.

Suna’s eyes snap up in confusion, a complaint on the tip of his tongue as his lips part to free it. One look at Kita’s face silences him, and any protest he may have wanted to voice dies out before it’s given breath. The elder turns away once more.

He crosses the room towards Aran, and his Wakagashira pushes himself up off the doorframe as he approaches, pulling himself upright as the two prepare to take their leave. Meanwhile, Atsumu and Osamu share a look across the room, communicating their shock—and relative confusion—wordlessly between themselves.

Just before he steps across the threshold to exit, Kita pauses once more. He doesn’t turn around, but there’s no question in anyone’s mind who he’s speaking to when he says:

“Not to that club. Not to that girl. Home.”

[saltedriceball]

How I imagine the Mystreet characters

Because they’re block-shaped in the show, but my 12 yr old ass imagined them as real people. 🕺

* I mainly kept up with Aphmau when I was 10-12 years old, I fully stopped watching after Mystreet 5 *

* I didn’t watch MCD 🙊 *

*this is mostly PDH (my fav, I was 12)*

Aphmau

It’s just Jess.

Kawaii Chan

Like average height

5’4” ish

Thick thighs save lives

Whole wardrobe is baby pink and white

Idk grown me thinks she was a cam girl (in Mystreet, not Phoenix Drop ✋)

And she made bank too

She’s not very athletic, but she’s just like blessed proportion-wise

Pale, but not as much as portrayed

Idk I always thought she’d actually be Japanese since she uses Japanese terms

Pin straight hair she curls only at the bottom

Like ribbon

Katelyn

Quite tall

5’9”ish

Muscular but in like a

~she’s a runner she’s a track star~

Type of way

She just looks athletic

Flat though

Paler than KC

Her hair is wavy-curly naturally

She kinda lets it just flow or it’s in a ponytail

Zane

Quite chubby

Idk how anyone watched that show and thought

*man who despises the outdoors, hates exercise, and enjoys sweet things*

“Must be tall and skinny”

The fan art I viewed in middle school legit surprised me.

He was definitely super duper skinny in high school

Adolescent metabolism and all

He is definitely like 5’8”

He is very pale

Does indeed burn almost immediately in the sun

Has an emo boy hair cut

Like Anthony from Smosh way back in the day

He also has piercings: lip, ears (multiple), septum, eyebrow)

Also has tattoos

Freckled, especially on his body

He has random scars from injuries growing up

Inflicted by his brothers

Mostly Garroth

Garroth

Muscular

But also quite chubby

Just kinda in the middle

Like 6’

Overall just a big guy

Just looks like he gives good hugs

He also has a beard

Not a big floofy one

But it’s there

He looks very Northern European idk

Has a lot of arm hair, and it’s very blond

So you don’t see it until up close

Also pale

And very freckled

Also wears a watch

And his outfit is the most average outfit for a man

Khaki shorts, a white tee, a plaid button up unbuttoned, a watch, and sneakers

This outfit could be spotted on an elementary schooler’s spring picture day

Or on my literal father 👨🏻

His hair is quite curly

Not in a spiral curl, but more of a wavy-curly way

Laurance

This man is brown imo

Very tall

Like 6’3”

Super skinny

To where he looks even taller than he is

Just built like that ya know

His hair is a pony tail as an adult

But it was in a Superman sort of curly situation in high achool

I get the vibe he likes being outside

Doesn’t work out, but loves a good hotgirlwalk

Aaron

A little more like the common fan art of 2016

Tall, but only like 5’10”

Absolute beefcake of a guy

But also like has some body fat

He is not rock hard, but you can see his muscles

I imagine he has thick thighs

Fat ass too

But that’s just how his body fat distributes, so like yeah he has visible abs

Idk that’s all I’ve got

There was enough consistent fanart in my atmosphere at the time that that’s how I imagine him

Dante

Never thought too hard about him

His hair is definitely curly

More than Garroths

He has especially big eyes

He’s like lean muscular

Just very average white guy

Like 5’11”

Looks young for his age

Michi

Absolute 2014 tumblr girly

Owns something with galaxy print

Very thin

With tig ole bitties

Wears thigh high socks, mini skirts, and tank tops with sweaters

Has the swoopy bangs of the era

Poses in up angle selfies like 🙂

So her head looks like a raindrop in the photo

Edits her ig photos to look more aesthetic

Teony

Tall

Girl next door

Well done, natural make up

Straightened hair

Smiling a lot

Even if it’s fake

Idk her character that well

Never thought too hard about it

But she’s like supermodel pretty

Ein

I only remember high school him

But he was like

Young guy skinny

Like you could see he had arm muscles in a tank top

In an old 5SOS type of way

His head is actually boxy shaped

Like 5’11”

White

Never thought too hard about adult Ein

Lucinda

White

Her hair is dyed with spells

It’s styled well, in a Jessica rabbit hairstyle

It’s curled

Body shaped like a coke bottle

Hourglass for days

She’s just hot

Gene

Hi why was this cast so white washed

White

His hair is not naturally black

It’s like medium brown

It’s also straight but he gets it permed

Wears eyeliner

Lots of bracelets and piercings

Tall guy like 6’1”

Cadenza

She spends a lot of money dying her hair that color

White

Tall like 5’10”

Her dress is floor length

And loose

Could command a room

Guy

Barbie doll

Hi Ken

Built like an upside down isosceles triangle

Muscular

Back muscles for days

Looks like he could do triathlons in Ancient Greece

Like 6’5”

This man is good to look at

Ivy

Michi but pink

Jeffory

The most golden retriever man you could imagine

Like 6’3”

Athletic muscular

Melissa

The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen

Tall like 5’11”

Long legs

Nicole

Don’t know don’t care

Miscellaneous really

Wasn’t in the show enough

Reese

Nick Bean dyed pink

Vylad

Drake Bell in his Drake and Josh era precisely

No more no less

Except he always has a scarf even if it’s hot out

Sylvanna

Aphmau, tall

Zianna

Button nose

A really petite lady

Her hair is black but with gray sprinkled in

The most smiley lady you ever did see

Mother gothel if you breathed life back into her

Hot

Kai

Forgot about him for a sec

Ok gears turning

Tall

Very calm energy

Redhead

Idk he wasn’t that relevant for me

Jenny

Also in the 2014 tumblr girly category

But a little more Bethany Mota with it

A little less galaxy print

A little more Jennxpenn vibes

Wears hella eyeliner

Her outfit is black cutoff jean shorts, an oversized shirt so you can see her white tank top underneath

Her hair is naturally that light

Wears converse only

[blueiscoool]

Lost and Found: Bottle Hunter Digs Extraordinary Farmland Treasures

Tom Askjem is a time traveler. Every May to November, he disappears into the bowels of the earth, descends to depths of 13’-plus, and returns to the surface with treasure—bottles and glassware from farming’s past.

After 1,800 pits and hundreds of thousands of relics, Askjem is equal parts archeologist, thrill seeker, and mole. Muscle on dirt, the North Dakota farm boy has turned an addiction into a career, multiple books, and a captivating YouTube channel with millions of views. However, Askjem seeks more than glass.

“I’m digging for adventure, history, and love,” he says. The past is in these holes and there are countless numbers of them across farmland.”

Time to hunt with a master.

The Infection

On the flats of extreme eastern North Dakota’s Traill County, Askjem, 32, prepares for a dig trip. “No mountains and no hills in the Red River Valley,” he describes. “You can see your dog run away for days. The land is mostly featureless, other than a few big cottonwoods and shelter belts where farms used to be.”

A mop of blonde hair sits atop a 6’-tall, lanky frame as Askjem saddles his pony—a Honda Civic. At the current mileage rate, the Civic will be junkyard fodder before it has a scratch: 60,000 backroad miles added to the odometer in the past six months.

Askjem piles layers of gear into the trunk, including three of each tool for insurance: shovels, pronged garden forks, trampoline pads, probe rods, buckets, plastic scoopers, trowels, tents, sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, air mattresses, clothes, and waterproof, Redwing leather work boots.

“It never gets old,” he says, wearing a wide grin. “I caught the infection when I was a kid.”

Digging Bodies

Pushed from the Grand Forks area by the historic Red River flood of 1997, Askjem moved to a farm outside Buxton at six years young. The main property was an 1878 homestead—a progression from sod house to log cabin to the present standing 1898 farmhouse decked in Victorian-era woodwork and hardware.

Surrounded by history, including the skeletons of old wagons and rusting machinery, Askjem explored a 5-acre patch of woods on the property, and chanced on a garbage dump: pop bottles and trash.

Askjem dug.

“I went deep and found stuff going back to 1898. When you’re a kid living in the country, there’s no going down the street and there’s no hanging with friends to play video games—you make your own adventure. I started hitting up all the farmers I could find for leads.”

Behind the wheel of a rattling go-cart, Askjem sought Buxton old-timers and collected tips on abandoned houses. “They all helped me,” he says. “Nobody cared where I hunted because I was just a little kid exploring for all the right reasons.”

“I’ve still got an elementary school journal with an assignment describing my weekend,” he adds. “I wrote, ‘Me and Mom dug up old bodies.’ The teacher marked my paper out of concern,” Askjem describes, with an easy, deep chuckle. “I meant to spell bottles, not bodies. But it shows I was truly hooked.”

Indeed. Wonderfully hooked.

Soft Landing

Why are bottles buried under farmland and old house sites?

Prior to plastic and synthetics, glassware held everything: medicine, hygiene products, alcohol, soda, and beyond. Glass was it.

Additionally, prior to waste disposal services, homeowners discarded trash on-site—in back yard outhouses, trash depressions, burn pits, and wells or cisterns. In short time, the various ground receptacle spots were filled and forgotten.

“Let’s say, for example, a family moved in around 1880,” Askjem explains. “That site likely has two or three outhouse locations prior to World War l. The outhouse spots filled up at a rate according to family size. I dug one farmhouse site that had six outhouses in a 10-year span. Folks went into the outhouses and threw away bottles: medicine, opiates, beer, whiskey. It was convenient and private, and had a soft landing, and got covered quickly. Even now, the bottles often are still preserved.”

“Generally, these houses also had a burn pit and/or dump pit. In the early days, they burned all trash in the stove for heat. Also, homestead bucket wells were filled up with trash and bottles once they were replaced by pump wells. Cisterns also were eventually filled up, but most of those are associated with houses in town.”

And the sites remain, he emphasizes, hiding intact relics beyond the reach of farm machinery or tillage equipment.

X Marks the Spot

Location. Location. Location. Other than a tip or invitation, how does Askjem find dig sites?

X marks the spot, at least in the county courthouse or public library. He spends winters poring over early property transaction documents. “I look at lot sales. If several lots sold for $100 each in 1880, but one sold for $1,000 in 1885, the price climb tells the story and likely represents a building location.”

“I also read old newspaper archives, looking for hotel or business advertisements,” Askjem continues. “Then I can look up the proprietor’s name and keep tightening the scope, narrowing down the exact building location.”

“Every single house is different, but generally, in the countryside, outhouses were 30 paces out the back door. In the city, where most lots were 140’ long, outhouses could be as close as 5-10 paces.”

Confident of a site’s potential, Askjem first asks for permission to dig from the landowner. “Property owners are always so kind to me and I don’t hide anything I find. They’re curious about what is in the ground, just like anybody else.”

Second, he grids out the site. “I put down markers 2 paces apart, maybe 20 paces long. I push probe rods into ground and feel for compaction differences. Depending on the location, I’ll call in and have utility lines marked out for power and gas.”

Decked in Levi’s and a tank-top, it’s time to tunnel.

Claustrophobic Comfort

Shovel in hand, Askjem descends into a layer cake of dirt: black topsoil to brown-colored clay to telltale ash to a use layer containing treasure.

“Generally, I go deep to find old items in quantity. The earliest bottles were used to the last drop by farmers and thrown out empty. Therefore, when they froze in brutal Dakota winters, the glass didn’t break from liquid expansion.”

As Askjem extracts glass vessels from the dirt and grime, his encyclopedic knowledge registers with each find. He recognizes the type, manufacturer, and age. Ink bottles, hygiene bottles, medicine bottles, beer bottles, soda bottles—and far more spill from the holes.

“I find patented medicine bottles across the country, but my favorite are soda bottles because they are unique to their locale and have character. The old soda bottles are usually marked with the bottler and town name because they were returnable.”

The outhouse pits are typically 6’-deep at home sites, with an average size of 6’-by-4’-by-3’. “I’ve dug ghost towns, dug saloons, train depots, and pool halls that were 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 8’ deep. I remember a hotel pit that was 20’-by-20’ and 8’ deep. There was a military fort with pits behind the barracks that was 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 13.5’ deep: That was a week’s worth of digging.”

Askjem’s subterranean realm provides no comfort to the claustrophobic. At 8’-9’, he braces the holes with woodwork. “I’m in a solid clay base that doesn’t cave, but I have a healthy respect for the ground’s limitation. Sometimes, it looks like I’m digging a rabbit hole.”

Preserved in nature’s freezer, the artifacts unearthed by Askjem often are in phenomenal condition.

“Pieces of newspaper can still be read; bottle labels are legible; white lime used in decomposition is visible; and undigested seeds are everywhere. Even 120-year-old human waste sometimes is perfectly preserved and still smells like hell. I wear a hydrogen sulfide respirator in those cases.”

“It’s all there; almost like it was dropped yesterday.”

Ghosts in the Ground

In 2022, Askjem began chronicling his digs via a YouTube channel, Below the Plains, and soon captured millions of views. At two posts per week, he gins footage at a steady rate to feed the algorithm, a tough task considering the ground in his geography is frozen from mid-November to mid-May.

Additionally, Askjem has written two in-depth books (Nebraska Soda Bottles 1865-1930 and A History of North Dakota Bottling Operations 1879-1930) and has more on the way. “I put the bottle prices in the books because they can sell for a whole lot and I always tell the landowners. Listing prices draw criticism, but that’s important to me because it helps preserve the item, and preservation of history is what drives me.”

Covered in dust or mud at the end of each day in digging season, Askjem is highly respectful of what he finds—almost reverent after 1,800 digs. “I appreciate everything I uncover because it represents a part of someone’s daily life and existence. There’s nothing wrong with coveting bottles, but I’m really in those holes for the moment of discovery.”

Even when not digging, Askjem is on the move, surfing on the coasts or river diving for lost cargo. In the decades to come, will he continue burrowing into the past? “Twenty years from now, I hope I’m still digging and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”

“There’s not an infinite amount of lost bottle sites, but there’s certainly an incredibly high number,” he continues. “There were 300,000 homestead farms in North Dakota with a minimum of one well, one outhouse, and one trash dump. And that doesn’t include towns where most of the population lived. There are millions of these sites in North Dakota and far more in other states.”

Respect to a freewheeling hunter like no other. Bottles draw the eye, but ghosts draw the heart: “The moment never gets old when you uncover a bottle and find that history,” Askjem adds. “Never.”

By CHRIS BENNETT.

[scotianostra]

Ooh, what’s Edinburgh like? Moving there next year hopefully, from Africa, and after a few quick trips I can’t say I’ve gotten too much of a sense of the city :(

I'm kinda biased, but it's a good place, quite small and easy to get around, the main bus serice is Lothian Buses, for a flat fare of £2 you can get from ato b on one bus, for £5 cash you can hop on and off, the best value is paying by debit card , what they call TapTapCap from as little as £4.80 per day and £22 per week, so if you are one 3 or more buses in one day it caps at £4.80, and £22 is the most you will pay fr a week. The bus service is very good and I use their bustracker, find it on Google Play "My Bus Edinburgh" The vast majority of Museums and Art Galleries are free, only charges tend to be if there are special exhibitions, like The National Museum of Scotland had a Doctor Who exhibition last year. There are two main train stations, Waverley and Haymarket, and several small ones and stops.

Most people don't realise that Edinburgh and the surrounding areas have some great beaches, Portobello is the best in the city, ad has plenty of places to eat and drink at there. Cramond Beachis a mecca for dog walkers, there is a Causeway there where you can explore Cramond Island, just watch the tide times. There are plenty of parks and green spaces, the city is officially the greenest city in the UK, with almost half the city (49.2%) being classed as 'green space'.

If you are relatively fit there are plenty hills to climb to get great views, some are very easy, Calton Hill, Corstorphine to name but two. Arthur's Seat offers different routes to the summit of varying difficulty, but you can actually drive so far up and just make the easy climb to the top, there are three man made "Lochs" around Arthur's Seat, if you're lucky you will see Otters at Dunsapie, Duddingston and St Margarets have plenty swas and ducks. For more serious walkers the Pentland Hills are a great place to explore, there is even a herd of oor Highland "Hairy Coos" up there. If you can ski, there is a dryslope on The Pentlands, the longest in the UK.

Pubs and clubs are a plenty, I have no idea of your age as you have decided to remain anon, but many places cater for students, prices vary, I pay between £2 and £4 for my drinks, although the touristy places will charge you up to twice this amount, over £6 for a drink is not unusual.

Of course we have the Festival, well there are several throughout the year, Edinburgh gets the tag of Festival City at times. The main one is in August and the population of Edinburgh is said to double in the time, licensed premises are automatically given an extension to their opening hours, some open to 5 in the morning.

It's a safe city  with a low crime rate, but as with other places you have to be aware of your own safety. If you plan on taking in the paid attractions The Castle wil set you back about £20, as will The Palace of Holyrood House. Opposite the Palace is The Scottish Parliament, you can visit thisfor free and sit in while it is in session. If you are planning on venturing around Scotland and like your history I recommend a membership of Historic Scotland, again I don't know your age, but prices start at under £3 a month and are less than a fiver for adults over 24. National Trust of Scotland also offer meberships from £3.35 to £5.80.

Can't really think of much more to put for now, perhaps my followers can make suggestions, or ask questions?

Oh and pack your umbrella get a waterproof jacket, even in summer we can get some heavy showers, naturally you will be aware it can get cold as well, invest in a decent winter jacket and layers to keep warm.

I hope this has been helpful.

[vtuberconfessions]

i am so tired of being nice i just want to go apeshit PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD VTUBER ARTISTS WHO HAVE NEVER RIGGED BEFORE: ASK A RIGGER FOR ADVICE ABOUT SEPARATION AND LISTEN TO IT!!!! as a rigger and artist i am so fucking tired of having to spend 8+ hours re-separating and fixing all of the bullshit with your artwork that makes rigging a nightmare. AS A BASIC RULE PLEASE...

1: NEVER USE A SPACE IN LAYER NAMES!!! if you use a space in the name of any layers ( i.e. "leg l" "part 1") the name will be switched in live2D to "artmesh" and your rigger will have to RENAME EVERYTHING. if you do this for every layer THIS IS A NIGHTMARE. it's not easy to fix PLEASE use underscores instead of spaces.

2: have ANY KIND of naming system. it literally doesnt matter, as long as it exists and is consistent the rigger will figure it out. don't name one thing "left_arm_1" and another thing "Bang>SidePart" and expect me to be able to easily work with your file.

3: KEEP. LAYERS. ORGANIZED. please please PLEASE understand basic rigging hierarchy and stick to it. If the left eye folder is ten thousand layers below the right eye folder this will be extremely confusing. also make sure the limbs are ordered properly. if the shoulder is in the layer for the jacket and the hand is somewhere floating in the ether i now have to spend time to reorganize the psd.

4: LIVE 2D DOES NOT WORK LIKE A DRAWING PROGRAM. it only allows for multiply, add, and normal layers. no overlay, no screen light, just add and multiply. if I have to clip a layer to more than five other layers the program WILL lag for both you and the person who ends up using the model. Do not just leave a massive multiply layer over the entire model it doesn't work that way. 5: oh my fucking god PLEASE draw EVERYTHING even if it isnt in view. if you have a separate layer for the bang's shading, for example, in normal illustration you just draw what's visible and call it a day. I'M TURNING THE HEAD, MEANING IT WILL JUST CUT OFF. if i have to fix this for every single instance of shading i am taking time away from my work, my whole process takes longer. as a rule of thumb, always draw more than what you think you need.

6: separate more than you need, but not everything. sometimes I work with models that have not enough things separated, and its a pain to work with. sometimes i work with models that feel like the artist just sent me their work file with every tiny brushstroke on a different layer and then I have to spend a day merging and checking everything. use your head while you are drawing, think to yourself "is the thing I'm drawing something that will need to move independently?" try to imagine the model in 3D space as your working, and if you can't do that perhaps study an object in real life and see how turning it in space interacts with the lighting or whatever idk. also: if there are too many separations the model will come out looking blurrier. live2D doesn't just read the photoshop file, it creates a new texture file. imagine the model like a paper doll, it takes every piece of paper and spreads each piece down flat. this takes up much more space and many more pixels then the photoshop document, and the bigger i have to make the texture file, the laggier things become. if i don't want it to lag, everything has to be shrinked down to fit, and thus everything becomes blurry. if I don't want it all blurry, I basically have to spend hours upon hours manually placing every "piece of paper" on another piece of paper essentially playing the worlds most annoying jigsaw puzzle.

I feel like I'm working on a group project and doing half of your work. please, stop making my job much harder than it needs to be.

.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #47 – City of Last Chances by Adrian Tchaikovsky

This book was recommended to me by a few different people, and in any case I am generally a pretty big Tchaikovsky fan. So of course I’m only getting around to reading it now, however many months later. Having put it off so long for no good reason at all, I can say that the book is in fact very good. Not Tchaikovsky’s best work (that’s still Children of Time in a walk), but a good read and one that left me curious (if not exactly excited) about checking out the sequel.

The story takes place in Illmar, the eponymous City of Last Chances – scarred and oppressed, tyrannized by cursed dukes and conquering imperialists, built upon a dangerous and unreliable route to other worlds and forever attracting the sort of people with no better options available to them. While the book has any number of characters, it’s really the city itself that is the star of the story – a story of how the theft of an imperial magistrate’s ward before he makes an experimental voyage through the gateway in the woods leads to a whole series of byzantine intrigues and bloody misadventures, culminating in an abortive revolution against the Pallseen who occupy and rule them. Which in one sense is an absolutely massive spoiler and in another just feels like stating an inevitability that was obvious from the first chapter.

The book was apparently quite heavily marketed as harking back to the whole New Weird trend of a decade or two ago – marketing that is lived up to wholly and entirely. The whole book absolutely drips with Mieville and Vandermeer. The oblique worldbuilding, the mundane day-to-day life built around the opportunities and inconveniences of some intrusion of the sublime, the awkward intersection of ancient magic and industrial bureaucracy, and so on, and so forth. The Reproach in particular feels very Area X (or very Roadside Picnic, as you prefer), but in general the city feels like absolutely nothing so much as Bas-Lag with the weirdness dial turned down from an 11 to a 5 or 6.

It’s a real triumph of the book, I think, that the world genuinely feels vast and strange even beyond the points where it matters to the story - that all the little asides and the ways something affects a certain character feel like just small parts of something far grander and more uncanny than anyone can hope to understand. Maybe I’m just painfully tired of rpg-system worldbuilding, but it’s an effect I dearly love.

Much like Bas-Lag, Ilmar is very clearly a magical fantasy city going through a magical fantasy 19th century industrial revolution (instead of steam engines its demonic slave labor contracted and imported from the Kings Below). The meat of the book is playing into the whole tradition of the idealistic, virtuous but tragic liberal revolution – 1848 in Berlin or Vienna, the June Days and Commune in Paris, Warsaw a dozen different times, Les Mis. You know the type. Students singing patriotic old songs, workers rising up against class oppression, ‘revolutionaries’ who are mostly cowardly nobles pining after lost privileges and criminal syndicate putting on airs being caught flat-footed by events. You can probably tell the basic story in your sleep. But for such a venerable genre, this book's honestly probably the best rendition of ‘fantasy 1848’ I can recall. Something which won it my instant affection.

The other thing the book just overwhelming shares with the Mieville’s Bas-Lag books is a very keen sense of the necessity of revolution combined with an extreme cynicism towards anyone who might actually carry it out. The university students are sincere believers, and also naive sheep the narrative views with condescension (at best). The professional revolutionaries are all power-grabbing hypocrites who have wrapped themselves in the flag. The workers syndicates have a real sense of solidarity among themselves, and also none at all to the demon slaves that are used and broken powering the mills and factories. And so on. The overall thrust of the book is a tragedy not in the sense of railing against the inevitable, but in the sense that triumph and revolution were absolutely possible – indeed plausible – but for the flaws and frailities of the revolutionaries who might have accomplished it.

Not to say that it's misanthropic – the book is very humane towards the vast majority of its POVs. Of which there are enough for ‘vast majority’ to be a meaningful term. It was something like 130 pages in before any character got a second chapter through their eyes, a feat I had previously only seen in Malazan – and that’s not including the chorus chapters which just give a half-doze vignettes from across the city. But yes, most characters (even the ones who are really just viscerally repulsive) are shown through their own eyes as someone who is at least understandable, if not particularly sympathetic. The sheer size of the cast in a 500 page book mean that no one character or set gets that many chapters from their perspective (you could easily have written as long a book about roughly the same events with half or less of the cast), but some of the dynamics that are very lightly touched on are just incredibly compelling. Its enough to make you wish this was a series that would ever get any fanfiction written about it, really.

Given the way the book is so deeply concerned with oppression and violence on the basis of culture, class, and nation – imperial occupiers, native population, refugees and immigrants used and scapegoated by both – it is kind of fascinating that this is a world where misogyny and (possibly? Not very explored, the only example of a queer relationship we see is hardly going to be concerned by normative society) homophobia just flatly don’t exist. Which would be less interesting if it was unusual, really – the same could be said about very nearly every recent sci fi or fantasy book on the same lines I can recall. Interesting because it is very much not the case in Melville’s stuff – the cultural impact of Ancillary Justice continues to echo down the years, I guess. So yes the imperial police inspector will extort sex out of a brothel owner in exchange for not stringing up the entire workforce for peripheral involvement with the resistance, but also this is entirely gender-neutral. Something very modern about how oppression is imagined relative to the ‘90s or ‘00s (or just a different genre of self-consciously feminist novel a few book shelves to the left).

But yeah, great book, I am compelled. No idea where the sequel would be going, but will probably hunt it down sooner rather than later.

[crypticsketchpad]

ok u know what. *organics your robots*

spec bio wubbox concepts because why not! lore and rambling under the cut:

The Wubbox is an ancient species of monster dating back to the Dawn of Fire. Presumed to be extinct post-cataclysm, several caves full of dormant eggs have been found in the present day, and the species has once again become widespread in monster society. Loud, powerful, and somewhat territorial, they served as guardians of pre-contemporary monster tribes, and were regarded as gifts from the Celestials.

pic explanations

1. sketch of an adult wubbox, with different textures/components labeled. they are mostly covered in armor-like scales that are shed periodically; these can be replaced/upgraded by artificial parts, and are often repurposed into armor and instruments by other monsters.

2. sketch of a wubbox hatchling + notes:

- Baby teeth are sparse but very sharp, can and will eat almost anything (young wubboxes are notoriously ravenous, which lead to the myth that they eat other monsters)

- Protective cap over chest “speaker” (see image 4), falls off after a few weeks

- Long, fluffy fur for retaining warmth

- Simple armor plates that are shed several times while growing; initial set is made of eggshell parts that fuse onto the hatchling’s body

- Bioluminescent markings do not appear until adulthood

3. “blushing” wubbox; when flustered, their under-eye plates retract slightly, exposing patches of fur on their cheeks. these patches, like the rest of their fur, is bioluminescent, and is similar in texture to fiber optic lights

4. rough respiratory system diagram. they have very large lungs with a sort of dual output system; when speaking or “singing”, air passes through their larynx and into a hollow cavity in their chest covered by an eardrum-like membrane that functions like a speaker. this amplifies their voice and creates their signature booming roars.

5. side view of a wubbox’s head + skull concept. their mouths are full of large, flat teeth, with a diet consisting of vegetation and processed foods. 

6. earth epic concept. in this scenario, “epic” wubboxes are the result of eggs being stored in certain environments for prolonged periods of time and developing specific adaptations for said environments; for example, an earth epic would be created by keeping an egg buried in volcanic ash, in/near magma, or just in a high temperature environment.

an earth epic’s horns are hollow tubes developed from their eye plates, which grow out to cover their nostrils completely; these horns are the output of a built-in air purification function in its respiratory system that filters the ash and smoke it breathes in and ejects the contaminants in mist clouds.

7. air epic concept + notes

- Large eyes and angled under-eye plates

- Wingtips are notched like an eagle’s (air epics are very fast and agile fliers, being smaller and more lightweight than others of their species)

- “Nostrils”/air output valves on their wrists; purpose unknown (these are mainly used to emit train whistle-like shrieks for communication, but why they exist is a mystery)

- Body armor plates are replaced by smaller, feather-like scales

8. lol bald eagle

extra note bc i haven’t designed the rare versions yet: “rare” wubboxes are the result of experimentation on a common individual in an effort to “improve” the species for the modern age; all current rares are clones of the first successful specimen

[thecreaturecodex]

Hargin

"maggot princess" © @bowelfly, accessed here

[The hargin is a monster I first heard of recently, thanks to @abominationimperatrix. They're found in the stories of Gilgit, a province of west Asia currently belonging to Pakistan. The idea of a shapeshifting, charming, monster bride being a giant maggot is delightful to me, a novel twist on the various swan maidens and selkies of Western Europe. As is the idea that bioaccumulation can result in scavengers becoming magical. In Gilgit, the ibex is considered a fairy animal, and so maggots that eat a dead ibex are those that turn into hargins. I expanded it to fey of all kinds.

Also, how cool is the art? @bowelfly knocked this one out of the park. I sent them references for traditional Gilgit-Baltistan clothing.]

Hargin CR 3 CN Fey This creature has the body of a woman, but the head of a giant maggot. Her neck stretches to impossible lengths. She wears fine robes and carries a stringed instrument.

A hargin is a fey creature that becomes a fey creature through unusual means—its diet. Hargins begin their lives as the ordinary maggots of flies, laid in carrion. The difference is that the carrion is a fey creature of some kind. By eating flesh imbued with fey energy, the maggots themselves become dimly magical and sapient, and then rapidly turn on each other. By the time one had devoured its peers, it has grown to monstrous proportions, and then molts not into a fly pupa, but into a humanoid hargin. The hargin is capable of changing its shape, and then proceeds to enter humanoid society in disguise.

Hargins differ in terms of their alignments, but most have acquisitive personalities. A hargin typically wishes to gain some sort of power, prestige or fame in their humanoid form, or barring that, get rich. Some hargins turn to performance, others to theft, and others seduce their way into the households of the nobility. Although hargins are somewhat naïve, they are charming and capable, and have a handful of magical tricks to assist them in either social climbing or larceny. They spend almost all of their lives in disguise, returning to their monstrous forms only in order to defend themselves.  Hargins are more likely to view other members of their own species as threats than allies. Hargins are sexually compatible with the humanoids they mimic, and some fey or aberrant blooded sorcerers have a hargin ancestor somewhere on their family tree.

In combat, a hargin uses its bite attack as its primary weapon, but may carry weapons to defend itself as a humanoid in order to not blow its cover. Its mandibles ooze digestive acids, and it can concentrate them into a caustic bolus. A hargin’s neck can extend impossibly far, even in humanoid form, and they are sometimes mistaken for rokurokubi due to this ability.

Hargin  CR 3 XP 800 CN Medium fey (shapechanger) Init +4; Senses low-light vision, Perception +5, scent Defense AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10 (+4 Dex) hp 27 (5d6+10) Fort +3, Ref +8, Will +3 DR 5/cold iron; SR 14 Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee dagger +6 (1d4+1/19-20), bite +1 (1d6 plus 1d6 acid) or bite +6 (1d6+1 plus 1d6 acid) Ranged shortbow +6 (1d6/x3) or acid spit +6 touch (2d6 acid) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (15 ft. with bite) Special Attacks extensible neck Spell-like Abilities CL 5th, concentration +7 3/day—charm person (DC 13), faerie fire, hypnotism (DC 13), ventriloquism (DC 13) 1/day—deep slumber (DC 15), invisibility, touch of idiocy Statistics Str 12, Dex 19, Con 14, Int 11, Wis 8, Cha 14 Base Atk +2; CMB +3; CMD 17 Feats Deceitful, Point-Blank Shot, Weapon Finesse Skills Bluff +10, Diplomacy +8, Disguise +10, Knowledge (local, nature) +6, Perception +5, Perform (string instrument) +8, Sleight of Hand +10, Stealth +10, Survival +5 Languages Common, Sylvan SQ change shape (humanoid, alter self) Ecology Environment any land or urban Organization solitary Treasure standard (lute, dagger, shortbow with 20 arrows, other treasure) Special Abilities Acid (Ex) A creature that takes acid damage from a hargin’s bite or spit attack must succeed a DC 14 Fortitude save or take half the damage again (minimum 1) at the beginning of the hargin’s next turn. The save DC is Constitution based. Acid Spit (Ex) As a standard action, a hargin can spit a bolus of acid. Treat this as a ranged touch attack with a range of 30 feet and no range increment. A creature struck takes 2d6 points of acid damage. Extensible Neck (Ex) A hargin has fifteen feet of reach with its bite attack, and treats cover as being one step less for the purposes of making attacks with her bite attack or acid spit. A hargin may extend its neck in order to make an acid spit attack, effectively increasing its range to 45 feet. A hargin may extend its neck even in humanoid form.

[orionchildofhades]

steddie swapping soulmate au part 6

part 1 |[...]| part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | Ao3

---

Walking the halls of highschool for the first time ever is more than a little intimidating.

Steve remembered the way his father had announced all and every single of his expectation before leaving.

the name Harrington means something around here and Steve has to remind everyone of it.

but those thoughts were easily out of the window by the idea of his soulmate.

just thinking of it was enough to make his heart beat fast, faster than any of the cars his father had shown him during the trips this summer.

and he might meet him just today

him

he remembered waking up, fifteen for barely a couple of day, in a new bed. in his soulmate's. in Eddie's.

relief, to find the proof of it, of him being meant for someone else, had soon left room for a frantic panic has he realised how he had turned into panic.

he was in a boy's body, and even though he did not mean to peek, his soulmate had gone to sleep in a lack of close that left almost nothing to the imagination.

except from a pair of boxer hiding the worst, he could see everything from shoulder length hair to very flat chest to a single pierced nipple that Steve had hurried to cover in the first shirt he found on the floor.

said floor had been covered in a frenzy of notebooks and clothes and a couple of papers crumbled and thrown in the vague direction of a trash can.

horror upon the view had taken hold of Steve's chest, hearing from here the screech his mother would let out of she ever found his own room in such a state before a startled laugh burst out of his lips.

it was so fucked up.

his father would kill him if he learnt his soulmate was another man.

but after a second, or a minute, of careful breath, Steve had stood up and went around the room, something reverent burning softly in his chest. his hands had followed the wood of the shelves, the spines of well loved books, caressed the glossy red of a stunning electric guitar.

it was scary.

it was exalting.

the idea of soulmate had always been a far away dream. no tangible reality to cling to. his parents relationship could be described as rocky at best and they always told everyone they were soulmates, the perfect couple written in the stars, god sent and blessed by the heavens.

(wait a couple of days of seeing him around before talking)

but they weren't exactly perfect.

they were screams and silences, evenings spent without a word, sharing a meal without warmth. they were wine bottles and glass full of bourbon. they were blank eyes upon harsh words. orders and expectation. they were not there.

the idea of a soulmate had always been a far away nightmare. something he wished so badly was different, would not happen to him, something binding him and someone else who would offer him nothing but quiet and loneliness.

but this room... it had been full of life. so unlike all his family had ever shown him.

it was like what his grandparents had tried to show little Steve once before they died and their memories faded in the past of a life that was not his anymore.

it was life and personality and a slight ordeal of chaos and, while Steve roamed the room, he slowly learned that, maybe, just a small and quiet maybe, this soulmate might not be so bad.

and he had learned about him, about Eddie. About this boy a year older than him, who lived with his uncle in a trailer park, who cooked and burned eggs when he was too preoccupied by his music but who, apparently, could make killer pancakes when he wanted. about the way he grew up, vaguely, hints here and there from Patricia, another soulmate, just as sweet as the smell of the cookies they had cooked, and much nicer than his own parents. once more.

maybe this all soulmate business is not as terrible as i thought, maybe the only terrible soulmates are my parents.

the voice was quickly shut down.

nonetheless, Steve had had the time of his life for a couple hours, using all the time he had to bath in the warmth of it all.

and the best part ? his soulmate lived in Hawkins.

So Steve walks down the halls of this new school, apprehention burning beneath his skin and the shimmer of excitment making everything glow a little bit brighter.

After all, not many soulmate can meet each other so soon. Wouldn't it be fantastic to actually learn from him, instead of through him?

Steve spends a few days trying to get a hold of the situation, understand the dynamics of the school and get a look at his soulmate.

He signs up in a few clubs, excited to see all the sports team he can join. He hangs around a couple of friends he had since childhood, the daughter of one of his dad's co-worker and the son of his mom's favorite neighbour.

Carol and Tommy. Carol was nice, a bit loud when she wanted attention and excited like never before to storm the world. Tommy had always been quieter, sticking to his friends and waiting for things to unfold. The three of them were close, years spent at each other's house, playing and fighting like children do, growing into gossiping and sharing secrets.

He did not yet told them about Eddie though.

Simply because Eddie is his to keep and his to know.

Soon, he thinks, i'll meet him soon.

At lunch this day, Steve sits between Carol and Tommy, a couple of older students across from them with smiles on their faces. The eldest Haggans, Richard, is senior and smile devishly at his brother when he annonces he joined the basketball team, laughing at his brother's expense when he explained he might try to get a scholarship this way. They all run in the same circles, even came several time at the Harrington's household when they organised parties for work.

In the corner of his eyes, he spies Eddie comming in the cafeteria alongside his friends. In the last week, he gleaned as many information about him as possible. He intends to see if he can talk to him after class during his club activities, perhaps even join it if he manages to find a way to hide it from his father.

He doesn't really understand the whole role playing business. Patricia had tried to tell him what she knew of it, which was not a lot. Things about magic and dragons and maths? somehow. Still, Steve became curious and couldn't wait to discover more about his soulmate.

Eddie's eyes slid on him across the room, before snorting at a joke from his friend. A bit of bread is thrown across the table, hitting one of the people on his cheek before they started bickering in midly wild gesture. He didn't glance at him a second time.

That is another strange thing about this situation.

Eddie had not come to him at all.

Steve has an excuse, except for his slight nervousness obviously. he barely knows the way to his classroom. Eddie on the other end, had all the time in the world to look for him.

But it was fine.

Steve remembers the way his head pounded when he came back to his room after swapping, to his body. Ideas and names might not be the clearest thing to remember.

All of it would certainly come back when, this afternoon, Steve would go to him.

It is with a sliht tremor in his hands and sweat dripping down his back that he makes his way toward the room in which the Hellfire club holds session. But the hope is stronger than the fear, the idea of someone taking care of him and being loved by him so important his heart swells and he steps forward, hand ready to knock.

the doors open by themselves, or rather by Eddie, who stands being them, arms wide open, towering over him with a hint of darkness behind his eyes.

"Well, would you look at that. A lost sheep." He announces with a booming voice, a sly grin on his lips. Steve can't tell whether it is directed at him or at his expense.

Nervousness creeps back, clinging at his shoulders and his cheeks tint lightly.

Behind Eddie, the rest of the club observes the scene with keen eyes, not saying anything. The table in the middle of the room is filled with papers, dice and small dolls? more like the things in the monopoly, thown across the board. They probably represent the characters, Steve realises.

"I, hum, I came to talk to you?" That sounded wrong. More like a question than an actual answer.

Shaking his head, Steve tries to stand a bit taller, straightning his back and looks at Eddie in the eyes. Big eyes, full of all the life he found in his room last time.

He shouldn't be scared. This is his soulmate. No use being nervous.

"And what would a Harrington want with little old me?"

Surprise hits Steve in the chest.

So he does know who I am?

Doubt starts to creep it's way into his brain.

"I wanted to join your club," he says, he glances behind his soulmate once more to look at who he thinks is the head of the club, trying to send a smile her way.

"And what club would that be?"

With a frown, Steve drags out his answer, "Hellfire," he reads of Eddie's shirt even if he knows it, showing the design with a finger and grin, hopping to take the strange tension in the air own a notch, "the dragons and dungeons club?"

Someone snorts in the room and Eddie's eyes darken slightly.

"Listen, we don't accept jocks here, everyone heard the loud statements you and your little friends are making by joining every sport club okay, and we don't accept the kind of people who hangs out with Richard fucking Haggan. This was a funny encounter, now move along."

His throat swells with telltale feeling of tears. Confusion and a strange pain course through his body. He takes a step back, frowning, trying to come up with something to understand why his soulmate, who clearly told him he recognised him, rejects him like that.

Did Steve do something?

"But, I wanted to-"

"Not interested," Eddie finishes.

The doors clap back right in his face, leaving him alone in the empty corridor, alone with the turmoil of feelings hacking at his heart and brain.

he swallows up tears before nodding vaguely.

well, that was just humiliating.

---

i love angst :)

remember, both Eddie and Steve are years younger than what we see in the show. We meet Eddie when he is 20/21 yo in s4, and Steve is 17/18 in s1 and 19/20 in s4. Here they are -barely turned-15 for Steve and 16 for Eddie. I decided to change a few things about how they act compared to later.

hope you liked Steve POV

this chapter is longer than my usal!

(i started this fic during my holidays and i only had my phone to type on, this is on a computer, therefore, longer. And with probably with more typos)

[beechersnope]

Summer of Cum Days 4/5/6: come inflation, facial, coming in public

seb/mick with a bonus dash of foot/pantyhose/pregnancy kink, 1118 words

***

Seb is so fucking weird about trains.

Mick secretly hates them. Finds them claustrophobic and slow. An impatient itch has wormed its way under his skin since they sat down in their car. Having Seb sitting across from him only makes it worse.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asks her once the novelty of watching the countryside fly by out the window finally wears off. It hasn’t taken long; Mick has been half-distracted by the peek of skin between the top two buttons of Seb's cream-colored blouse.

There’s nothing inherently obscene about the outfit as a whole—the pastoral scene depicted on Seb’s wool cardigan is almost childishly innocent, and the flowy skirt adorning her lower half extends several centimeters past her knees.

Seb shrugs. She leans back against the seat, the blouse drawing tighter over the swell of her breasts. “Paying homage to our shared cultural heritage, of course. You don’t like the design?” She reaches down to examine the milkmaid sewn over the pocket on her lefthand side.

“That’s not what I mean,” Mick replies, his mouth suddenly going very dry.

The blouse is almost see-through whenever she pulls it close against herself. It’s not overtly noticeable unless you know what to look for, but Seb has been picking and pulling at the fabric since the second they got on the train, as though trying to find exactly the right angle to reveal the dark shadow of her nipples. Seb almost always goes braless.

“No?” Seb replies, still playing innocent. “You’re right, it is a bit stuffy in here.” She reaches down, undoing the next two buttons on her blouse, letting the front hang open until all Mick can see is the slight curve of her small, flat tits every time she moves.

“Seb,” Mick pleads in a quiet tone.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s been half-hard since the station, maybe even longer. Seb had kept a warm hand on the curve of his inner thigh on the car ride over, and Mick had done a good job of keeping himself under control then, with the driver right there in the front seat, but now he didn’t have that buffer anymore. It didn’t matter that they were on a public train and that theoretically, anyone could walk in on them. He can’t take it anymore.

Mick reaches down to palm at the swell of his erection through his jeans, whimpering at the pressure—too much, not enough.

Seb tsks. But she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Pull your cock out,” she says instead.

Mick almost swallows his tongue. “Right here?”

“No one can see you. Just me. And do you really want to show up in front of a bunch of cameras with a stiffy in your jeans? Come on, Mick, I’ll take care of you.”

Mick’s hands shake as he unhooks the button on his waistband. He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as his dick is freed from the restrictive confines of his jeans, but that relief is quickly outweighed by the nearly painful throb of his dick as even more blood rushes downward between his legs. He only gets like this with Seb, so hard it actually hurts.

“Pull your jeans down a little,” Seb says next. “I want to see your balls, too.”

Mick immediately obeys. He keeps the pubic hair above his cock trimmed short, knows Seb likes the way it looks, but he shaves his balls completely smooth, because he knows she likes that, too, the way they feel smooth and velvety against her tongue, inside her mouth. They’re already drawn up tight against his body, and it takes a bit of finagling to get his jeans down far enough to give Seb a full and unobstructed view of his package.

Seb gives a little hum of satisfaction once Mick’s cock and balls are fully in view, but it cuts short once he wraps a hand around his cock. “No,” she says, and that’s all it takes for him to let go. She doesn’t say anything else as she bends down to unlace one of her brown leather boots, and Mick just watches, silent and wide-eyed, waiting.

Seb has nude-colored pantyhose on underneath her skirt. She gives her toes a wiggle once she kicks off her boot, stretching the digits against the sheer fabric covering her feet for a second before extending her leg across the space between her seat and Mick’s. The car is small enough that she doesn’t have to fully straighten her knee to reach the apex of Mick’s thighs with the sole of her foot.

“My pussy’s so wet for you,” she tells him as she drags her toes up the length of his cock, pressing firmly with her foot and grinding his cock against his belly when she reaches the head. “Your cock’s so pretty; I love it. Love your little pink balls, how wet you get for me.”

Mick lets out an abortive whine as his cock spurts out what feels like an entire pint of precum, the slick liquid dripping down his shaft, soaking into the fabric of Seb’s pantyhose, easing the friction against his dick with every stroke. He can barely remember how to breathe.

“Wish I could ride you like this, let you fuck my ass and come inside,” Seb continues. “Want you to fill me up. You always come so hard, I bet if I plugged myself up after I’d look pregnant.”

Mick’s vision starts to blur.

“You want that?” Seb taunts as her foot strokes him even faster. “Want the journos taking photos of me big and round with just your come?”

That’s what does it, the thought of Seb’s taut stomach swollen because of him tipping Mick over the edge before he even realizes it’s happening. His whole body feels painfully tight, like the come is being dragged out of every part of him, and maybe it is—he’s shooting for what feels like entire minutes, in hot splashes against Seb’s foot, Mick’s black hoodie, his own face.

Mick shudders through it with Seb continuing to milk him from the base of his cock to the head with the flex of her foot, draining every last bit of come until it finally slows to a pathetic dribble that slides back down his shaft and soaks into his pubes. He tips his head back against the seat when it’s over and draws in a long, rattling breath.

“Still got an hour left before we get to the station,” Seb says casually as she flicks some of the come dripping off her toes back onto Mick’s already ruined hoodie. “Think you can get it up again?”

[puckpocketed]

“wouldn’t it be cute if you formatted all your gif descriptions the same way” -> I’m breaking down the doors of the california digital newspaper collection with my teeth to find the broadcast date for this documentary -> omg irbe mention <3 -> THEYRE BEATING HIS ASS IN THE PAPERS pipeline is so real and true and beautiful. to me. I love how san jose sharks reportage has never once been regular !!!

highlight from "Irbe struggles, Sharks bomb: double-headed goalkeeper falls flat" By Mark Kreidler for McClatchy News Service. Originally published in The Santa Cruz Sentinel, Volume 137, Page 14, 9 May 1994.

In bold text are my favourite parts. And for future reference, I truly hope Askarov tortures us the same way Irbe did to Sharks Fans of Yore <3

The San Jose Sharks are one man, goalie Arturs Irbe. Arturs Irbe is two players, the courageous, risk-taking shotstopper and the loon In the teal jersey whose neck keeps snapping backward as hockey pucks fly past. Tough combo, the Irbe-Irbe split. And there is your Sharks season, in a wildly frustrating capsule. He was at it again at the San Jose Arena on Sunday, Irbe the evil twin, the sequel. Two days after posting an efficient 5-2 victory over the Toronto Maple Leafs to give the Sharks a 2-1 lead in the teams' National Hockey League second-round playoff series, the Latvian with the generous heart didn't make it out of the second period alive in a mortifying 8-3 defeat. Pucks flew past with a shocking frequency, and they came from everywhere, and they went everywhere, but mostly in. At the end of the second 20-minute set, Toronto had a 6-1 lead, and only a fan base as enthusiastic as the Sharks' would have stayed to the bitter finish, a loss that had "midseason throwaway" smeared all over it.

Even Irbe didn't stick around. Pulled by Coach Kevin Constantine in favor of Jimmy Waite at the start of the third, the goalie had had plenty of time to review the carnage by the time he emerged from a long, long shower. Verdict? "We lose, we lose bad." Ever so true. In playoff life, the Sharks are precisely as they represented through a 33-35-16 regular season: Up and down like the employees' elevator at work, and about as much fun to watch on the downside. And while the routine played decently through the first round, with a seven-game decision against Detroit, the Maple Leafs are nobody's idea of the collapsible Red Wings. Enter Irbe, who knows he is going to have to raise his game to keep San Jose in this playoff. Detroit was one thing, the Red Wings sputtering and misfiring just often enough to give the Sharks and their goalie second life, to say nothing of third and fourth life.

The Leafs? Call them somewhat less forgiving. They took control Sunday by beating up Irbe's teammates, crowding the net, blocking Irbe's view on at least three of the six goals they hung on him. Doug Gilmour just ate them up all the long day. All in all, noncompetitive. "All in all," said Sharks center Todd Elik, "awful." "You can't blame it on Artie," teammate Jamie Baker said. "He didn't have a whole lot of help in front of him. It was a group effort, us getting blown out." But the Sharks are Irbe, for better and, occasionally, for demonstrably worse. He certainly got no help on this day, but then Irbe is the kind of player who rarely helps himself. Seldom has a goalie put so much pressure on himself by leaving the net with such maddening frequency. Irbe's tendency to roam after loose pucks behind the net, out to challenge an oncoming shooter always runs the risk of costing the Sharks a cheap goal, and so it was in Game 4.

A 1-0 Toronto lead in the opening period became 2-0 at least partly because Irbe, regarded as one of the better-skating goalies in the league, left his goal during a wild scramble on one shot and then was prevented by the alert Leafs from getting back into position in time to stop Mike Eastwood's chipper. Two became three a couple of minutes later on a Dave Andreychuk slap shot, a total San Jose defensive breakdown; and after that, Constantine said, "the field of the game was changed." Translation: "We had to open up our offense," Elik said, "and we're just no good at it." That is how games become routs, and how goalies become goats. Irbe, hailed all season as the man who kept the Sharks competitive on nights they otherwise might not be, had no defense against the Toronto attack. He wasn't even close. "Way too many goals for me to say it was all lucky bounces," Irbe said. "I'm fine now. I'm relaxed, calmed down from it … But I have never been happy with my play in the playoffs. I cannot be satisfied with this." This message brought to you by Irbe the Evil. Come Tuesday, Game 5, the other fellow, the -one so depended upon, could fit in quite nicely with a San Jose plan to stay competitive because, as everybody following this team knows by now, there is never any telling what tomorrow brings.