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#dangle dandies
gameraboy2 · 2 years
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1956 Superman Dangle-Dandies
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honey-flustered · 8 months
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Made With Love (Fluff)
Eddie Munson x Crocheter!Soft!GF!Plus!Reader
Summary: You love making gifts for your boyfriend and his cool uncle. And Eddie just simply adores you.
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A/N: Just short draft that ive kept for a while now because i just didn’t know what to do with it. So ive decided to publish it as it is so that in the meantime i can get my shit together.
Word Count: 1.5k+
Summary: inexperienced!reader and eddie, plus size reader, hinted!autistic reader, eddie being a simp for reader, lots of fluff, wayne being reader’s number 1 supporter (don’t tell eddie 🤭), sexually suggestive language and behavior, some body worship, kissing, cuddling
Eddie Munson is the luckiest man in the world. No really because just how did he manage to get a girl like you in his arms? You went beyond his criteria of a perfect girl which was simply to be a woman. But you’ve exceeded in ways he could have never imagined.
For one, you’ve got amazing taste in music. Despite the differences in your music genres, you both appreciate the variety and exchange songs all the time. Second, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Eddie knew he loved rubenesque women but you were all that and more. He swears could die and go to heaven at the feeling of your thick thighs and soft belly as you’d lay his head on either part. And not to mention that beautiful face he yearns to see smiling at him constantly with those enchanting eyes that seem to twinkle endlessly.
Lastly—a fact about you that has both facts, one and two, beat—you’re awfully talented. You bake, paint, and, best of all, you crochet.
You crochet just about everything and he admires it. The best part is you always came up with the most interesting things that even Eddie wasn’t sure he needed.
Currently, you and Eddie were curled up on his couch. Your eyes wandering his shaky lean frame while his eyes stays glued to the television set, a gentle hand caressing your thigh.
You pride yourself for being an observant one, a skill you’ve had to perfect throughout your childhood in order to understand the world around you. And because you’re so observant, nothing gets passed you including the way he continues to shiver beside you.
“Something wrong?” You ask, concerned.
“Just my unusually cold wrists as always,” Eddie sighs. “Strangely specific, I know. It’s the chain bracelet and leather cuffs. The silver and leather are like ice against my skin with this freezing ass weather.”
You smile brightly, clapping your hands in excitement. “Actually, I have just the thing for this little issue.”
“Oh, do you?” Eddie smirks, nose scrunching up in amusement.
“Mhm,” You nod as you began rummaging through your bumblebee bag (crocheted by yours truly). “Close you eyes.”
“‘Kay.” He obeys with a smile never leaving his face.
Rushing up to stand in front of the television set, you held the items behind your back before commanding your boyfriend to open his eyes once more.
“So…I’ve noticed the way you rub your wrists for the friction to radiate some heat because they’re always so cold lately. And I also notice that when the cold becomes to unbearable you’re forced to remove your wrist accessories,” You began your spiel as if you’re in an infomercial. “Why should you sacrifice style or possibly losing your accessories because of naked wrists? Well not anymore with my handy dandy…wrist bands!”
You shoot your hands up and out in front of you, dangling each red and white patterned wristband in either hand. “I also call them Eds Bracelet Warmers as a placeholder product name.”
“That’s metal!” Eddie praises, standing up to study the bands closely. You release them into his hands and he stares down at them in awe, sliding each onto his arm and making a little show of them before his attention resumes back on you.
“Do you like it?” You say rocking back and forth on your heels anxiously.
“I love it! It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”
You snort out a giggle. “You say that with every crochet I’ve made you.”
“I was wrong all the other times. I mean, as much as I love the crocheted mug warmers, pillows, and seat cover…I’m thinking this might top them all. Just look at the detailing on this. You’re like a goddamn Picasso. Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a hand on his chest, letting you know just how much you’ve touched his heart. Then he suddenly grows shy, tapping his index fingers together as he avoids your gaze. “Permission to hold you. Maybe…kiss you a little.”
“You don’t have to ask,” You run into his embrace, cupping his face in your hands to plant a searing hot kiss onto his lips. With the mixture of your forwardness and his knee-buckling reaction, he’s sent falling back against the couch with you still in his arms.
You scramble to peel yourself off from above him, not wanting to put to much pressure on his slender frame. And yet he interlocks his fingers together right on your lower back, keeping you still. “Wait, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never, baby,” Eddie says, bringing a hand up to your face to caress your cheek. He then traces his thumb faintly around your lips. “I want you on me all the time.”
He suddenly becomes nervous, a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. He’s nervous under your alluring gaze, aware that you’re clocking every shift and change in his facial features and mood. Embarrassingly, he had an erection that you no doubt felt in between your bodies and pressing against your belly. Eddie decides to release you from his full grasp.
Instead of pulling away, you draw his thumb into your mouth slowly, pursing your lips around them as you look him through your lashes and half-lidded eyes.
He chokes out an audible whine, even the inside of your mouth felt good. He’s never wanted to explore it this badly. When you pull your mouth around the digit with a pop, Eddie’s quick to cup your face now and shoves his tongue into your mouth. He takes control of the motions, gradually rolling your bodies over so that he’d end up on top.
His eager hands glide up your smooth skin of your thighs, pushing up your dress that fit snug around you. Your hands entangle themselves in his hair, letting your long nails lightly scratch his scalp.
You and Eddie have been soft lovers with one another, taking your time and being patient with one another regarding physical affection. It took a lot for the two of you to feel comfortable enough to ask each other for touches and eventual kisses. You’d say you’ve gotten pretty far.
Sometimes, things would get heated and you’d be concerned that it might lead to sex considering you’re both virgins. However, aside from your anxieties and insecurities, you actually did feel as if you’re ready to give yourself to him. But ever the gentleman, Eddie is usually one to call it quits.
But with his lips moving against your own so passionately, you couldn’t see how he’d pull away now. Especially not when you’ve got fistful of his Hellfire club shirt in your hands to prevent him from doing so.
Nonetheless, he pulls away much to your chagrin. The faint reminder of his lips against yours still felt by you in the span of a millisecond. You wish that feeling could linger forever.
He stares down at you, examining the look on your face. It’s your turn to hold him still against you, your nails burrowing in his exposed lower back.
“Sweetheart…” Eddie begins as if in a trance.
“Yes…Eddie.”
“I think…that I—”
The swinging of the creaky, trailer door is enough to lurch you both apart, sitting in your designated seats on the couch. Uncle Wayne enters the room with a hand over one eye and an outstretched hand to guide himself into the home.
“All clear?” He asks.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “All clear, Waydog. We’ve been good.”
Wayne opens his eyes slowly, his gaze landing on you on the couch. He perks up with a bright smile. “Oh, y/n, what a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I was actually worried I was going to walk into Eddie watching—“
“Dude!” Eddie interrupts, staring at his uncle in incredulous betrayal.
“Aw come on. I kid, I kid. You know that’s what we Munson men do. She’s used to that by now.” Wayne chuckles, placing some bags of grocery on the counter.
You giggle, soothing Eddie’s hair as way of ensuring him that it’s okay. Going over to the kitchen, you and Eddie help Wayne unload the groceries when Wayne notices the crochet bands around his nephew’s wrists.
“Those look neat! You think you could make me a pair?” Wayne asks you with hopeful eyes.
“Of course! And don’t you worry, I’ll even get them to match the beanie hat I’m still making for you.” You beam.
“Woah, woah. Wait a minute. He gets a matching hat?” Eddie inquires with a pout.
“Oh, like you haven’t stolen the first hat she’s made me.” Wayne chuckles.
“I didn’t steal. I borrowed.”
“For 4 whole months?”
“There isn’t a time limit for borrowing something. If there is, I’d like to see the rule.” Eddie challenges.
“I think you’re just jealous of us,” Wayne says, standing beside you with you nodding in agreement. “Why else would you take my gifts if not to have them all to yourself?”
“My girlfriend and my uncle in alliance against me.” Eddie laughs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Didn’t think I’d see the day coming so soon.”
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Another bread era?
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Otome au
I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!
WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, possessiveness, stalking, threats, death, murder
Malleus Draconia/Lilia Vanrouge-“I’m gonna take your bread sir… let me take your bread SIR SIR STOP WALKING AWAY FROM ME SIR!!!??”
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Malleus Draconia, the hidden king behind the roses, a legend who even the highest of kings and queens whisper in fear about... is holding back a laugh from watching you
Ok, to be fair, you can only do so much as a ruler of a Kingdom which has been isolated from the others for so long which probably also resulted him in being a bit (or maybe a lot more than a bit) for social interactions
Malleus adores you to a level which is incomprehensible for the ordinary human mind. Heck, most likely for any mind
Yet his most beloved is at the moment pretty much the opposite of him. Most unelegant they screamed at the poor bakers of the Queendom of Roses for their bread
Not like those humans, pardon, NPCs could hear you but it was a rather silly sight to see you sprinting up to the next person like you were possessed and demanding their bread
Could it be that there was a famine that led to you now demanding the food of others? But why especially bread? (I am not joking he is seriously asking himself that)
After sending Lilia out to check, just to be sure, he finally found out that no, you are not on the path of starvation, you are just silly
Might as well enjoy the show then. It's not every day that you see an otherworldly bring controlling a body being this interesting... not like he had seen another bodysnatcher like you before
When he noticed the havoc you caused in your wake he could not hold it back anymore, bursting into laughter he swiped tears of joy from his cheeks
Why this moment was so funny to him was beyond him. Perhaps it was that small memory of another place far in the past, a human from another world, a room filled with all kinds of individuals enjoying their rather mediocre meal together
Perhaps he should humor you
Sending out Lilia yet again (the poor bas-) he ordered that you were brought a basket filled with the finest sentiment of breads
Soft bread, hard bread, bread with seeds, bread with a crunchy crust, bread that tasted spicy and much, much more
When that NPC tried to trade all that bread for a meager price which could barely feed a person for a day the oh-so-lighthearted atmosphere shifted immediately into something that can only be described by “Oh f, he did it”
“Lilia, when was the last time you sharpened your blade?” “Pardon?”
But hey, at e end off the day you had still your bread and everything was great and fine and dandy and yay and oh my god someone just got killed in a PG-13 game what the heck is going on??!
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Lilia is someone who takes his duties very seriously
Be it conveying messages to all those that have paid the price of his ruler's benevolence or monitoring the one who connects the one controlling them and this world
At first, Lilia assumed that the one controlling the puppet wearing white and blue would be a cold-hearted tyrant who loved to watch an entire world being nothing more than a game to them
But then...
“SIR GIMME UR BREAAAAAD!” A most frightening battle cry, Lilia nearly fell off from the tree branch he was dangling from when he first heard it
Were you finally setting out to conquer this world? Was it finally time to draw his sword and- uh... huh? *Insert confused expression*
Instead of attacking a defenseless person you sprinted to the next one, repeating the same actions you did just a second ago
The general had expected something of a crueler nature, just how the Gods were at the dawn, not someone jumping up and down whilst demanding bread
But perhaps, this could be used to his benefit?
The next day you found a new NPC. How strange, haven't you walked down this path in the game many times before? His did you miss him?
Interacting with the young man you found out that he was a baker who specialised in bread
How funny! You made a show of wanting bread just yesterday
It was almost like the game was interacting with your real-life self... Nah. Must be your imagination
To your delight, the dialogue seemed to change every single day, ending with the baker telling you stories far too dangerous for a normal person like him to experience
Every following day the interactions with the young man became more and more interesting, and by interesting I mean they went more and more off the grid
Lilia had to tell you more stories from the past he could still remember. This started with him investigating by talking to you but after time, he got attached. What if you were to move on and leave him behind from boredom? After some time his filter started to stop much less from his past than before. Things that he would have sugar-coated before we're now on full display.
Just don't turn your affection to somebody else. You were such a refreshing new sight that he simply had to own your attention
Now now, play nice and do what he says. Otherwise you might find a few NPCs missing
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cowpokeomens · 3 months
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okay but uno reverse,,, sub noah sub noah sub noah who actually lights up when you present him with a pretty chain with your initial or some shit on it like 🥺 honestly you didn’t rlly know how it was gonna go over, was kinda worried he’d hate it, but you’re getting fucked into the mattress so good tonight, his new chain with your initial dangling over you and you’re just grasping it between your fingers as he worships you within an inch of your life LADKJWJDJS i’m FINE DANDY never gonna recover
OKAY SO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sub Noah who just wants to feel owned :-/ He's already so worked up from the collar but then you touch your initial on his neck and say "You're my good boy, right?" And he MELTS he is PUTTY it's like reverse possessiveness where he wants everyone to know he belongs to someone!! He is a kept boy!!! He is spoken for!!! Aaaaaah!!!!!!!!!!!!
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vs120shound · 4 months
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Kennedy.K leans into her hands-free drag, no dangle-drag because you can see that her left hand was holding it before releasing it from the fingers of a V-shaped grip for the drag to unfold. And it's a dandy!
QUICK HITTER #13!
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@kennedy.k_ has a private account on Instagram but she's on OnlyFans. She bills herself as an Aussie SF model! Well, without a dedicated SF website giving her work and to arrange for shoots and paying out per each shoot, well, she is merely another -- but hot and strong-smoking -- Social Media Smoking Darling-Social Networks Cigarette Gal. Nothing more. However, she classifies herself, we're glad she's a part of the Greater SF World Community scene. Kennedy is a lovely and voluptuous smoker!
In our Centerpieces . . . in the picture above, we have detailed at the top of our QUICK HITTER how she is dragging. The picture is from smoke-fetish-erotica and was downloaded on May 11, 2023. And in the video below, we have Kennedy in a hot tub/Jacuzzi/spa (a small pool) where she gets to relax and have a cigarette. This is from blackmaca13 on November 17, 2023 in which it received 117 positive responses from the SF Universe with likes or re-blogs! Being in water is perhaps her most popular motif.
And now for the supplemental assets (content) to our post . . . beyond the "Dinner & A Movie" approach already satisfied by the photo-and-video, tandem one-two punch included above . . .
Photos of Kennedy.k_
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From duval of Smoking Fetish Kingdom, downloaded on July 2, 2023 . . .
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From duval of SFK, downloaded on June 14, 2023 . . .
Previous Posts on Our Network of kennedy.k_!
From lostligher23 on April 4, 2023 (her debut on our brand) . . .
From vs120shound-2 on May 15, 2023 . . .
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stealsteels · 1 year
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Long Cold Winter - Chapter 2
Chapter 1
wordcount: 3800
warnings: explicit
a big thank you to @friendlyneighborhoodchaosdemon for being a beta reader, an editor, and an awesome person altogether ❤️
What a weird feeling to be asleep, but also be aware of your sleeping state. You wanted to wake up. Not really, but you needed to wake up. You were with a stranger, far away from home, and in grave danger. You had to get up, stop prolonging this vulnerable state of yours, and get moving but you couldn’t. The harder you tried to wake up, the deeper you fell into the dark pit of faint-like slumber. 
You were a shade conscious of your surroundings; you were still handcuffed, and Vigilante was still in close proximity. He was awake, the intensity of his gaze created a burning sensation on your face. You tried harder to wake up, to move your fingers and toes, again with no prevail. You felt his warm touch on your inner arm, and he shook you, not so gently – that did the trick, the motion woke you up immediately. You were right, he was lying on his side next to you and staring at you. Vigilante.
“Good morning,” you said, feeling like a fool.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I want to take a shower.”
You had to think for some time about why he needed you to shower. For a second, you thought he was inviting you to shower with him – the image in your head caused your stomach to tighten with excitement. Your body’s reaction surprised you, and the shock reminded you of the reality: You were handcuffed together. He couldn’t go anywhere without your collaboration.
A gentle fight occurred between you and the heavy comforters and blankets while Vigilante watched you without help. You were breathless when you finally managed to sit on the bed cross-legged. “Shower,” you repeated, still weirded out by your reaction.
“Yeah, we’ve been walking outdoors non-stop. There’s a water heater system here. It’s probably Steve’s doing.”
“Have you thought about the logistics? How are we gonna do this? You don’t suggest we shower together?”
“Nonononono,” he said, shaking his head. That was too many no’s for your ego. “We can take turns and… There’s a shower curtain, we can wait for each other and finish this chapter without compromising our modesty !” He gave you a smile, and you wished he hadn’t. He had everything, dimples, and a plump mouth. The weak sunlight helped him show off his smoky green eyes.
You were staring again – you knew you were staring, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hadn’t expected this pretty face with delicate features under the mask. He was growing uncomfortable again, you wondered if he wasn’t used to being admired. 
His hand went to his eyes. “Do I have eye boogers?”
“Just a little,” you lied and used the opportunity to touch his face by removing an imaginary gunk. His eyelashes fluttered. His skin was soft. And you were such a creep.
“Shower,” he reminded you.
You let him drag you into the small bathroom. “I’ll go first so you won’t have to wait for me wet and get cold,” he said. Why was he being so nice and considerate? He hadn’t exactly been rude to you, but he was callous, inconsiderate, and accusatory. Ever since he’d given you his gloves, he’d been more soft-spoken and kind.
He reached behind the shower curtain to turn the faucet on and muttered something about waiting for the water to warm up. Then without warning, without asking you to turn your back, he started taking off the remaining clothes he had on. Not knowing what to do, you acted like everything was normal and dandy – looking away might make you look too prude-ish. And why exactly should you care whether this man thinks you’re a prude? Did you want him to think you were ready to–You felt something warm near your hand and flinched.
He was shirtless now and his black undershirt was pushed to be dangling from your wrist. “Can you pull it further?” he asked. “I don’t want it to get wet.”
“Yeah, of course,” you said, forcing yourself to look directly into his eyes, which didn’t last long after he bent down to take off his underwear and quickly got behind the curtain. You were safe now. From temptation, from being a creep, and from–
“Can you come closer?” he asked loudly. “I can’t reach under the water.”
You took a step forward and warm water gently fell on your bare arm.
“Keep your arm relaxed, will you? I need both hands to wash.”
First he shampooed his hair, stretching your arm out. To keep your wrist from hurting even more, you placed your hand on his shoulder. He hesitated for a few beats but then kept on washing and rinsing his hair. You could hear him humming an unfamiliar tune.
“Oh, this smells nice,” he said and you, too, were aware of a kiwi scent mixed in the warm and damp air. He washed his torso and your fingers got into the mix unintentionally. He was going lower and lower and you wondered if he was perverse enough to use his handcuffed hand to wash his dick. You also wondered if you were perverse enough to secretly want that.
“Alright!” he said cheerfully. “It’s your turn now.”
“Already done?”
“Not even by half, I’d like to stay under the warm water for hours if I can but I don’t want to finish the hot water.”
There he was, being considerate again. You handed him the towel hanging on the wall and he came out with that wrapped around his waist. “Go on,” he urged and turned back with no prompt. You mimicked what he’d done to his t-shirt and took off your panties. Nothing. Not even a quick glance.
“Do you even like girls?” you asked and regretted instantly as you stepped in the shower.
“What girls? Who are those?”
You were too busy to moan in pleasure, the warm water felt amazing on your tired and aching body. “Just girls, in general.”
“Can you give me names? I don’t know whom we’re talking about.”
“I’m not talking about specific girls. I just want to know if you like girls.”
“Yeah, yes, I do,” he said and put his hand on your shoulder like you did as you shampooed your hair. This type of shampoo would fuck with your hair, and you doubted if Vigilante’s father stocked up on your hair oil, but you had actual mud on your hair, and you’d use dish soap if you had to. “My best friend is a boy, though. I mean, a man.”
“I’m asking if you like fucking girls!”
“Oh,” he said, and obviously, he needed time to think about it – it was your fault for asking such complicated questions. “Hell yes, I do! I mean, not all of them but quite a bit of them. The word girls is kinda weird, though.”
As he rambled on about the infantilization aspect of the word girl being used for referring to  grown women, you lathered up a few generous squirts of the kiwi-scented shower gel between your palms. Your mind wandered to places where it had never before, mostly focusing on ways to rile up the man you were handcuffed to. This out-of-character inclination of yours had to do with the fact that you were still hungry and light-headed.
You looked at his hand, nearly twice the size of yours. He didn’t relax his arm completely like you had since it would cause you to fall on your face, but still, it was pliant. You wondered what he would do if you took his hand and forced it to grab your breast. 
“What are you laughing at?”
“Um, nothing,” you responded.
“Why? Are you crazy or something? It’s not something I could deal with right now.”
“No, I’m not crazy. I’m not the one who parades around with a mask and illegal weapons and handcuffing people.”
“Laughing with no reason is worse, you know.” Then he started ranting about schizophrenia and knowing what’s normal and what’s not better than you.
You were momentarily angry and careless and that led to Vigilante’s hand bumping into your breast by accident. Accident. You thought about it, you wanted to do it. Whatever it was, it shut Vigilante up.
Again, you lathered up some more shower gel between your hands to wash your legs, and he thought it was a good time to start talking again. This time you very much intentionally dragged the back of his hand on your breast – you even took your sweet time doing it.
“--you’ll also see that most psychopaths are seemingly normal and then poof! Suddenly they start laughing for no reason. I always strive to stay away from th–” He shut his mouth the second his hand came in contact with your body intimately. Clearing his throat, he stammered and then went back to his rant. You were about to do it again. You thought yourself so clever – and him, a nerdy guy who was a bit inexperienced despite his pretty face and cut body due to his weird personality. That was why you were thoroughly thrown off when he spoke in a completely different tone.
“You know, you don’t have to be coy if you want me to touch your tits. Just ask, and I’ll do it,” he said. Your hands froze as your brain frantically tried to find something to say,  to save yourself from looking like an idiotic, horny, pathetic loser.
He wasn’t patient enough to wait for your answer, so he continued, this time his voice less harsh. “I don’t mean to brag because one shouldn’t brag about these things, but I've made people come just by touching their breasts. Only two women, but on several occasions. So if you really want it, just ask nicely. I don’t mind. I can make you feel real good, and I would enjoy my ti–”
“I’m trying to scrub my neck, you idiot! It’s because of you I’m filthy and have a stiff neck and now you’re claiming that I’m trying to rub myself all over you? My legs are aching and I can see the flesh of my wrist!”
“Oh,” he said, not apologetically. You were sure by now that he was incapable of it.
“Anyway, there’s not enough hot water. I’m coming out. Can you give me a towel?”
“Umm,” he said. Okay, he could sound apologetic, but this worried you.
“What? 'Umm', what? What happened?”
“There’s only one towel, and currently, it’s wrapped around me.”
You swiped the curtain just enough to reveal your face. “Are you fucking serious?”
“I am fucking serious. It’s not very wet, though. You can still use it.”
“I don’t have any other choice, do I? Hand it over,” you said, holding out your hand.
“Can you not look? I have nothing underneath.”
You let out an exasperated sigh and pulled the curtain again. In reality, you thought it was sweet, him being embarrassed and modest and all. You turned off the faucet, and he hands you the slightly damp towel, pulling your arm to hold it with both hands.
“Okay, this is where my butt touched. So if you want to dry off your face, maybe stay away from that part. And this,” he said, holding with his free hand. “Is where my crotch used to be. But I swear, I keep both parts very clean.”
“Good to know,” you said wryly and dried your skin as well as you could before wrapping yourself with the tiny towel. “I’m coming out!” you announced.
“I want the world to know,” he sang.
“Are you decent?” you asked and realized you were smiling.
“-looking. I am decent-looking.”
“Get dressed and stop trying to be funny.” You didn’t wait for him to cover himself completely – after a few shuffling noises, you thought it was time to get out, and he was semi-dressed. To keep him comfortable, you lowered your gaze to his feet. “Oh dear, where is the rest of your pinkie?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, smiling with only one corner of his mouth. He looked dangerously good when he smiled like that. Not like that crazy murderous nerd, but like a slightly crazy and sexy nerd. “One of those aliens cut it off.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, it was disgusting. I was amazing, though. They couldn’t get a word from me. Nothing. I was electroshocked too.”
“I–what?”
“It really hurt,” he said, trying to be serious with an over-exaggerated frown.
“Aw, poor baby,” you said without thinking.
His eyebrows nearly touched his hairline, and his lop-sided smile turned into a full and genuine one.
“I need to get dressed,” you said quickly, and he turned to look  at the wall, still smiling.
***
“Why can’t we stay here in this cabin?” you asked. You were both sitting on the bed, cross-legged and drinking thick, steaming soup from large mugs.
“We don’t have to. I do. You can go back if you want to be killed and your skull used as a host for a butterfly.”
“I was fine until you came. Even if they were aliens, they were nice to me, and no one noticed me anyway.”
“They were gathering information on your boss. And once they were done, they’d probably kill you, too, and use your body as a host. They’re resourceful like that.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” For the first time in two days, you were now worried about things other than cold and the handcuffs. “How are we gonna get to Evergreen? Don’t say we’re going to walk.”
“No. As soon as I can find someplace to charge my phone, I’ll call Harcourt, and she’ll set up a car for us. You can drive, right?”
You took your time, gulping down the last of your tomato soup. “Yes,” you said, licking your upper lip – you didn’t want to waste any warm soup. “We can take turns. Where am I gonna stay, though? I have no money. Even if I had, all my savings could only afford a few days at the shittiest motel.”
“Wow, you really broke. Worse than me. Usually, I’m always the poorest one in the room.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a busboy!” he said cheerfully as he rummaged through the belt he took from the floor. He took out a pair of glasses and then put them on his face. “That’s better! Uh, yeah. A busboy. But I get good tips, like, extraordinarily good tips. I don’t even work that hard, but I guess the way I do business is more efficient or something.”
“Yeah, nothing to do with your looks.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. 
No reason to back down now. “You’re lean and in shape. You have a pretty face and pretty eyes. And a nice smile. People like tipping good-looking servers.”
Now he was shy. He averted his gaze, and his smile brought up some pretty dimples. He was even blushing, which made your face grow warm too.
“I think we should fuck,” he said, still smiling.
“What? No. No, I heard you, don’t repeat that. But, um, what?”
“For practical reasons,” he said, trying to get more comfortable, like a hen about to lay eggs, on the bed.
“Practical,” you repeated since that was all you could manage. Your usual reaction would be a quick no, but you had to be honest, with yourself at least; you had been thinking about it since last night. Especially after seeing his face. And body. And you were unloved enough to find his glove gesture grand and to ignore his killings and kidnappings and forgetting keys.
“Yes, practical. We’re like stuck on each other – and it’s weird! You know, to get dressed, shower, and sleep together. Pee,” he added with a brow raise. “And if we can’t find a gas station or other public restrooms as we walk, we might have to go number two in front of each other too.”
“Oh dear god,” you said.
“I think, if we get completely naked and, like, fuck each other’s brains out and watch each other’s faces while we cum, that would be pretty intimate, wouldn’t it? And then we, I mean you, wouldn’t get so embarrassed and flustered with all those daily tasks.”
“I–” You wanted to say something. Your face was burning and not with embarrassment. But you couldn’t find the words.
“Even if we can find someone to get this handcuff off of us, we’re still going to be together all the time. I can’t let you out of my sight – for your safety, I swear! And I can make you feel good, you know. Like, really good–I… am I making you uncomfortable? Sorry, I’m–I can’t really understand when–”
“It’s okay,” you said and brought your cuffed hands together. He looked at your hands touching with a weird expression on his face for a while. “What were you saying?” you said as innocently as you could manage, while all you wanted was to hear him talk about sex.
“I said if I was making you uncomf–”
“No, before that. About being really good?”
“Oh,” he said with no trace of arrogance. “I am good. I wasn’t lying when you were in the shower, I can make you come without touching your pussy. I had a lot of practice in the first half of my twenties,” he said, this time with just a touch of confidence. Then he inclined his head and whispered as if he was telling you an important secret. “I once made a girl come just by talking.”
“What?” you squeaked.
“Oh yes,” he said, leaning back and nearly bouncing on the bed. He had a huge smile on his face, but it was more enthusiastic rather than conceited. “We were in the car, driving to her place and we had made out quite a bit before at the bar. And then I was telling her what I would do to her once we were at home – and I wasn’t trying to talk dirty or anything, I swear. I was just trying to get to know her, you know, what she liked. And fuck, she started squirming in her seat and whining, and at first, I wasn’t really–”
“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Something in your body didn’t agree with imagining him with other girls. You knew you were the jealous type, though never confident enough to show it freely. But being jealous of a guy who hadn’t exactly been nice to you and whom you’ve known for only two days was a novel experience.
“So, what do you say?”
“To what?”
“Do you want to have sex with me?”
“When?” you asked, just to gain more time for yourself.
“I don’t know. Now? Or, like, some other time?”
“Vigilante,” you began.
“I told you, my name is Adrian.”
“When?” you said again.
“I told you last night, before we went to bed. You don’t remember?”
“No,” you said. It was a pretty name, non-threatening but not soft. “I don’t want to have sex with you, Adrian,” you said and witnessed his disappointment second by second on his face. “Sure, it’s the practical and logical thing to do,” you said, stressing the cold and distant-sounding words with care. “It’d make our job easier but I’m afraid it’s not possible for me. I have lots of intimacy issues – nothing serious, but I usually need time.” You didn’t necessarily lie, you usually did need time. Right now, though, you didn’t. But you were not about to accept an offer based on practicality for fuck’s sake. “By the time I feel ready, we’ll be in Evergreen already and out of these cuffs, hopefully.”
“Okay,” he said with a sad smile.
“I’ll try to be more relaxed about this,” you said, shaking your handcuffed hand. “You look disappointed.”
“I guess I am. I mean, I really wanted to kiss you. Am not a big fan of kissing. It’s usually too wet and sloppy and awkward but I was looking forward to kissing you.”
What kind of game was he playing? You searched for at least some shyness in his voice or expression but found none. He was too earnest and after a long talk of the benefits of you two fucking and his skills in no-touch orgasms he was now being annoyingly sweet.
You saw his bluff. “You can kiss me. I don’t mind kissing.”
“Why would I do something you don’t mind?”
Either he was extremely dense, or he knew what he was doing and had the potential to make you beg in a few days for his dick. “I want you to kiss me.”
“Oh, goodie!” he said and came nearer. And nearer. You closed your eyes and waited until you felt his warm and dry lips on your cheek. At first, he kept it dry and inhaled deeply. Then with small, open-mouthed kisses, he traveled close to your ear and lingered on the sensitive skin there. Another inhale, this time slower and followed by a soft moan – you didn’t know whose.
He pulled back slowly; his cheeks were delightfully pink and his green eyes shined behind his glasses. “Thank you!” he said happily. “That was nice.”
What were you supposed to say? You’re welcome? “I–I think I want to sleep a little more before we go out. It’s too early anyway and we don’t know when we can sleep in a proper bed again.”
“Yeah, good thinking. I can check the place and try to find something useful while you sleep.”
“Uhm,” you said and held his wrist.
“Oh. Fuck, I keep forgetting that. Fine, I can sleep too but we have to find a place to stay tonight before dark.”
You both laid on your backs again and before you pulled the covers he stopped you. “I want to sleep on my side – I hate sleeping like this.”
“You don’t need my permission, go ahead.”
“Well, not this side. I can’t sleep on this side, we need to change places.”
After a long sigh, you sat up and threw a leg over his waist to straddle him. Indulging in his surprised look you bent down and took off his glasses. Carefully putting them on the side table, you got to the other side of the bed to lie down. “There. Is this okay?”
“It’s great,” he said and put his hand under the pillow, facing you. “Can you put the covers on me?”
You tucked the edges of the covers under his chin. In this position, you had to lay closer to each other and you were feeling a bit uneasy under his unashamed gaze. 
“What?” you asked but received no answer. He stared at you for some time until he closed his eyes and mumbled something. It sounded dangerously close to “This is nice.”
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gorgagne-viperidae · 6 months
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#1 ENVOY
Reports, in your humble opinion, are a necessity to any field mission, a heads-up, a reassurance to the powers that be that all is well on the front, all is fine and dandy beyond the familiar bastions of civilization even when it isn’t. All may not actually be well north of the Coerthan mountain passes, but the finer details aren’t for the Lominsan thalassocracy to worry over; that’s your job, Erdenechimeg. To assess and report as necessary, by whatever means were available in the least conspicuous manner possible.
So it’s a real fucking pity indeed that [most of] your linkpearls are gone, left behind in the safety of a Maelstrom lockbox. Your contacts, distant. Your means, limited. Necessary sacrifices are made every day, but it leaves you in a particular position with a saying to match; something-something-Lominsan-boys-make-do. So you do. You make do as best as you can.
Today, your best is a recalcitrant post moogle. Its hat sits askew on its fuzzy head, fur groomed up to make a sleek curl just below the cap’s crooked brim. A mail bag three times the size of its bearer dangles casually off an improbable shoulder. No matter how you look at it, it’s a delinquent through and through. It makes your teeth ache to look at.
“Can you be discreet?” You ask it again with a patience worthy of sainthood. “It is important that you be so.”
If it had brows, the moogle’s would certainly be crooking up right now as it leans in, a tiny paw up by its tiny snout in a conspiratorial manner. “What’s it to you, kupo? You got nefarious doings going on? Secrets to hide?” A theatrical gasp, its sneer (you assume it’s a sneer) broadening in furry strokes. “Trying to get innocent folks caught up in your business, kupo?”
The moogle seems to have kenned that there’s something unorthodox about your letter-sending, something odd about your request in this age of tomestones and linkpearls, but unable to put a paw on it, it merely ruffles itself up, puffing big like a real rough customer oughtta. Its voice promptly drops. “Double, or I’m callin’ the Temple Kni-“
You are not a rich man, Erdenechimeg. Your stipend for this moon is already mostly spent, funneled diligently into the cost of a room and other living necessities this far out in the hinterlands. Your gilpurse sits woefully light in your pocket, a delicate but constant reminder that you are indeed dependent on your own abilities for time being. You don’t recall moogles requiring pay to do their jobs, but you also haven’t had to rely on the furry postal system for some turns now, so for all you know they could have unionized in the time it’s taken you to remember they exist.
Luckily for you, you were taught how to handle those uppity union-types by only the best.
Busy rubbing its little paws together in an unmistakable bid for cold hard gil, you catch this envoy of moogle-powered post by surprise mid-threat when you grab it by the pom. “-iGHYIII! N-n-n-now now!” It squeaks. Harried and fraught, the delinquent veneer peels off the little creature like tissue as its hat topples off its head and catches on the lip of its mail bag. Its neat curl of hair seems to fray in sympathy. Tiny paws wave and scramble, unable to reach high enough to even hope of stopping you from your potential pom crimes. “Let’s b-b-b-be-he-he-hee re-he-hEASONABLE, ku-hu-PO!”
The pom itself sits like a soft little fruit in your palm, easily engulfed when you close your fingers over it, and the noise this gentle squeeze earns you could power a city by force of decibel alone. All evidence of the tough customer is gone, shredded with the moogle’s dignity as it squeals for mercy in your [gentle] iron grip.
Feeling better about the transaction now, you delicately haul the trembling peapod of a creature up to your face, where it may catch every angle of your toothy smile as you say, “The good Temple Knights do not need to be bothered, I think.” The moogle trembles all the harder when your tone turns pleasant and reassuring. “Now, perhaps, now we can reasonably discuss postage prices, just you and I.”
“Kupooo…”
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wanyinchen · 8 months
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"I REALLY REALLY REALLY HOPE THAT AZIRAPHALE WOULDN'T GET HURT BY HIS DECISION TO GO BACK TO HEAVEN AND TAKE UP THE MANTLE OF SUPREME," was a thing I said in my last dump post. I was deep in denial and grief lmao
Like, who am I kidding, OF COURSE, Aziraphale is going to get hurt. IT'S GOOD OMEN'S HEAVEN FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE. It's going to be sterile, aseptic, void of personality, bland, and so fucking empty— all the things that do NOT reflect the home Aziraphale has built on earth.
Our babie angel is in his ✨religious-trauma relapse era✨, trust me I would know (not that I am traumatized by it too much, but I just know that it's NEVER going to be easy. To just simply go "Oh that's wrong, I shouldn't believe that! I'm gonna erase that from my mind now and everything will be absolutely dandy🥰!" Nah, that's not how it works. These types of behaviors are socialized into the very crevices of your very impressionable brain.)
And good lord the Metatron is playing Aziraphale like he's a fucking muppet in an eternally bland puppet show at heaven's own version of West End. He's dangling the hope of "reformation and institutional change" in front of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale being the kind person that he is— someone who just wants to genuinely do the right thing, like really, his heart is always at the right place. He literally only wants to see the best of anyone— it's literal catnip.
If he agrees, then he can make a difference! He can change things! He can finally dismantle the very system that abused him! This is a win, right? This is the right thing to do! No matter how much his soul screams out for Crowley, no matter how much his heart breaks, he is doing the right thing. This is the duty that the voice of God themself has appointed to him! This must be what the Almighty planned for him! No matter. No matter. No matter. This is NOT about him, this is about reformation. This is bigger than he and Crowley. This is about making sure that no one has to suffer continuous dismissal and patronization, emotional abuse, and invalidation from heaven ever again.
(He's doing this for Crowley too. Of course, he is. He has now the chance. The chance to have the power for Crowley to finally reunite with his beloved nebulae and stars and cosmos. He remembers how happy Crowley was when he had stardust on his fingertips and the joy of creation lighting up his beautiful face, if only he could make Crowley see—)
Oh, Aziraphale, the first thing you must know is that any kind of transformation will only work if the wound you are bearing is healed if the wound has bled and clotted and scarred. Only then you can ever have the hopes of changing the system— you can only help others when you are healed, if not, you're just going to bleed all over the place.
He needs to process that trauma: be sad about it, be angry about it, feel grief from it, yell about it, write about it, face it head-on, talk about it to others, introspect about it so much that you feel like you have doused yourself in antiseptics repeatedly, and finally let the wounds heal.
IM SO MAD IM SO SAD IM SO SMAD.
I WILL NEVER TRUST THAT HALF-ASSED SANTA-LOOKING BITCH EVER. this is the same bitch who so joyously declared, "The point is to win it [the war]!" I will never forget that, not as long as I breathe and can haunt the earth.
And dear lord, poor Crowley. My heart broke and aches so much for him. Because after all this time, all the progress he and aziraphale made post-apocawhoopsies and the literal six thousand years went seemingly down the drain.
(Don't worry. Its still there, its just underneath all the tons of trauma and the emotional baggage of Aziraphale)
In any case, Aziraphale choosing heaven —no matter what the reasons are— is a simultaneous gut punch, bitch slap, punch-to-the-throat, kick to the balls X 10000000 combo to Crowley. After everything, after EVERYTHING, Aziraphale will still not choose him. He can only take so much. The trust that they used to have will never be the same, it has fractured down to its foundations and the final blow was when Aziraphale said "i forgive you" after that kiss. It's Armageddon all over again but only so much worse. Aziraphale was not accidentally discorporated or waylaid by any external forces, it was Aziraphale who walked away.
He really had hoped, he really steeled himself and pulled off his shades and said "i love you, i need you, and i want you for all of eternity. Please choose me." And then Aziraphale didn't.
The Love is there— will ALWAYS, ALWAYS be there, for that Love is written on the very stars he used to create. Crowley had hung that Love in the sky too, as it is the most beautiful thing he ever made, kept, and chosen. He loves Aziraphale for so long that he doesn't know how not to. The Love will always be there, under his skin, flowing through his ichor, on every feather of his wings, and on every second of his existence. But the trust? The trust that he used to have is an entirely different thing. He knows that Aziraphale loves him back with the same all-encompassing intensity of millions of supernovas. But what he doesn't now trust is whether Aziraphale will choose that Love.
Now i must stop typing i before i hurl myself to the freeway and lie down right there
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lanternlightss · 1 year
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Venti or collector hcs gimme
Any kind welcome but perhaps silly ones I could doodle 👀
them them them
(digs through hc folder) okay okay, so
(this got a little long 😭😭)
venti:
his wings? absolutely massive. it takes more than a few people to get all the stuff out of it. vennessa, dvalin, and andrius like to sit down and groom his wings (all in human form, don’t wanna pull a feather out via claws!) they’re one of the few people he trusts to do it.
venti practices puns on zhongli. he picked them up from a few past friends (ragnvindr and bard, sometimes vennessa.)
whenever he gets excited, venti likes to run up to people, give them a hug from behind, and spin them both in the air. he did this a lot with vennessa, and usually smacked his wings into something in the process XD.
wispti LOVES to be (gently) tossed around. you can catch the bard swinging venti around his fingers like a butterfly knife at any given moment.
when lost in thought, venti will braid anything that’s in front of him. he has accidentally somehow braided his lyre strings once.
adding on to that last one: venti loves to crochet/sew. he’s a little embarrassed by how many braided projects he has. the thousand winds like to use them as scarfs.
when he’s very, very relaxed and comfortable, venti will make sounds he used to do as wispti. this includes chirping, trilling, chiming, purring—anything!
venti has a silly nickname for all his children. he’s accidentally called jean, “little dandy lion,” to her face once. they have both silently agreed to never bring it up. (jean secretly wishes he would do it again.)
venti will steal your clothes. if you are friends, and he is comfortable with you, Your Clothes Are Being Yoinked. this has happened with many people, but the pipeline so far has been nb -> vennessa -> jean. (they’re who he does it most too. it’s not his fault they have good styles!)
slightly angsty, venti has the original nb cloak, and pulls it out and around himself whenever he feels down. if he pretends enough, the hands holding his face are the bard’s.
collector:
pat their head. they Will bonk into like a cat would.
oh they absolutely do the flappy sleeves. sometimes they like to pretend they’re an “airplane” or a “bird” or a “really big dinosaur that could swallow you in one bite!”
he has matching plushies with almost… all the main cast? his favorites are king, luz, raine, and amity. (though all of them are his favorites, those are the ones he carries around the most.)
luz gives them a good witch azura book. she has read all of them to him. they do re-enactments of scenes sometimes, with everyone.
thinking….. about collector trying to get along with hunter. every time they are trying so hard not to ask “how did it feel to grow out the ground like a plant?”
collector has called hunter a sprout before. he didn’t get it.
collector either does not like shadow puppets, or likes them a lot. however, he loves puppet shows. sometimes he makes his own “scenes” with the plushies of his friends.
they made a little diy green slime. no one says anything when he twists and mangles it into nothing before fixing it. it’s therapeutic for them.
they made hats for all his friends. you know the little hat they wear in canon? he made personalized ones for the main cast. they all have little “things” at the dangling bit of the top part (think jester hat). like, hunter’s has a red bird!
luz has taught them what an “oc” is. he is unstoppable. (all of the ones he makes are based on his friends.)
loves loves loves to talk about space!!!! they will literally spend weeks talking to you about it, please ask them about stars, or galaxies, or the beginning of time.
loves nicknames. “little star,” is one of their favorites so far.
a very, very good narrator! during their book clubs with luz, they will make an entire theatre to act out parts. they try to make it as interesting as possible without breaking anything.
will mash together the most godawful abomination of foods. pancakes + glittery glue + pepperoni + cake frosting is one of their go-to’s.
every time he interacts with someone physically, like a hug, they are so so careful with it that it feels like nothing at all. they kind of know their strength, but he did also. maybe. punched a rock thirty feet below ground.
absolutely fascinated with the smallest things. once spent an entire day staring at a lava lamp.
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ashlynniis-bracketeers · 11 months
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Slayer/Sharon Genderbend {Guilty Gear}
I like browsing the Guilty Gear subreddit, and I saw some posts about one person drawing genderbends of some GG characters, so I decided to try my hand at it with Slayer and Sharon. Managed to get this sketchy thing out.
I'm honestly not sure what to put in this description ahjsdgajksdads look under the cut for design notes
Also bonus zoom-in on the Slapstick Slayer™
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I hope you like it!
Design Notes (Slayer) :
- I couldn't find much info on female Dandies. All I can really figure out about Dandyism is that it's focused on "high-class/refined" things (including imitating the aristocracy), and my brain always goes to "suits" when thinking about Dandyism... and I'm going to admit that I suck ass at drawing regular dresses, let alone pimped-out fancy-ass ballgowns, so WOMAN IN A SUIT IT IS.
- She ended up looking super butch lmao. Small tits, generally older-woman features, more detailed hands, and the fact that Slayer's build already accentuates a tiny waist and noticeably-bigger hips ends up with Dandy Butch Grandma.
- Her earrings are supposed to be the same symbol as the dangling baubles on the back of the suit.
- The bust image is based off of Slayer's expression when prying himself off of Bedman's backstab during his fight with Bedman in the Rev2 Chapter 3 Story.
- I actually originally tried putting a large hairpin in her hair in earlier versions of the design, but it ended up looking cluttered and not fitting.
- She has bony features, crow's feet, and the "ears" on the back of her hair are longer (hair is longer in the back).
- I made sure to hit her with The Slapstick™. She can be just as goofy as her original version (see the doodle in the upper right).
Design Notes (Sharon) :
- I wanted to keep the little "dress split" on the right leg like the original design, so I gave him a little side-strapped vest.
- I similarly wanted to keep the "sleeveless dress" look with the vest.
- I made his heels more detailed like some images of older male heels I found.
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glitterfairy-21225 · 11 months
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Listen… not escalating a situation is fine and dandy, but even if you wanna factor out the ZERO hesitation these people had at exploding monsters every episode… They just left those two monsters dangling in broad daylight in a public area!?!?! Didn’t try to keep them as prisoners or anything!?!?! Like, Rita was already there when Minh showed up, she was gonna free them because OF COURSE she was, it literally took no work to do so.
At that point, Minh can do what she wants.
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iracarterart · 4 months
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#annuallage #annuallage2023 #dangle #November23 Dangle Dandy
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clove-pinks · 2 years
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A quizzical look for Eighteen-Thirties Thursday: details of gentlemen with quizzing glasses from this 1836-1838 fashion plate in the Victoria & Albert Museum collection.
I'm familiar with quizzing glasses (a small lens worn on a chain around the neck) from earlier 19th century fashion plates. In The Dictionary of Fashion History, Valerie Cumming defines a quizzing glass:
Period: 18th and early 19th centuries. A monocle dangling from a neck-chain—a very fashionable accessory; in the 1820s dandies often had the glass fixed into the head of their canes.
And the look persisted into the late 1830s, at least? The historical fiction author Candice Hern claims that quizzing glasses were used into the 20th century, and provides a bibliography. C. Willett and Phillis Cunnington's Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century identifies it as an 1820s accessory, along with strings and tassels on canes—but this type of cane, along with quizzing glasses, can be seen in the V&A 1830s fashion plate.
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1834 fashion plate in the Met Collection has a hand-held quizzing glass, a tassled cane, and spurs on the boots for an equestrian look.
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herstoriies · 5 months
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𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .
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1. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚?
Delicately floral. A beautiful rose to decorate her hair or gown. Expensive perfume with notes of honeysuckle, jasmine, and orange blossom.
2. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚’𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚?
Small and dainty, and buttery smooth. They've not known much labor. And her fingers are usually adorned with a ring or two on each hand. On her left is a ring on her index and middle fingers. On her right, a pinky ring. Verse dependent, on her left hand in lieu of the middle finger ring is her engagement/wedding ring.
3. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙮?
Opera verse - She's very conscientious about what foods affect her voice. On a day she's performing, she avoids dairy and sticks to light but sustainable meals like soups, not overly salted vegetables, and fruits. That said, it's a battle given Priscilla is equally a bit of a foodie and restauranter and loves trying different cuisines. And did I mention her sweet tooth and love of champagne? More often than not she eats out, but isn't incompetent in the kitchen and enjoys making a traditional meat and vegetable dish, pastas, and baking scones and cake for tea.
Baroness verse - The Staunton chef's daily English meals (including high tea), or out and about to various restaurants.
4. 𝘿𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚?
In one verse she made an entire career out of it :D
In short, yes, she does. Naturally in her Diva verse, singing is her life and her voice was trained and finetuned to the coloratura soprano she became famous for. But natually she has a nightingale's voice, soft and melodically sweet.
In her other vereses, she still enjoys singing as a hobby, can't resist joining in a shanty, or chorus/choir and might stand out in a crowd of carolers if not mindful.
5. 𝘿𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙨?
She can be very reckless of her own behavior and get into trouble.
She's loudmouthed and outspoken and confrontational, when not in a comedic situation can lead to dire consequences.
She's impulsive and enjoys things in excess.
She has a revolving door of dandies she rotates like accessories. (in v: joie de paris)
She has kleptomania (in v: the baroness)
Uhhh to name a few.
As far as nervous ticks, its like sweeping her hair behind her ear, playing with her fingers or the tassel dangling from her fan, or taking a less confident posture.
When agitated she gets more sharp tongued, sarcastic, and demanding.
And in a dramatic moment of witnessing betrayal, can and has in the past physically lashed out, in the sense of destroying nearby objects and shoving everything off of her vanity table.
6. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 / 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧?
In a word: fabulous. Silks, lace, satin flowers, embroidery. Everything of opulent Victorian-era (verse-dependent but nonetheless...) Haute Couture frivolities. Most notably sporting designs by the famous designer: House of Worth. She has on occasion spent her entire paycheck on her wardrobe and had to scramble together a combination of savings and a slew of hustle side-gigs like posing for artists just to pay the next month's rent!
It can be argued her taste is a bit too avante garde, fortunately it's fitting for the victorian era
Some additional meta: Priscilla's wardrobe is like her battle armour. And she often prides herself in her physical assets, and displays them properly with utmost taste and opulent class. Starting with her custom-fitted corset and foundational wear for comfort and accentuation, and each layer and petticoat forward, topped off with silk ornately detailed bodice and skirt. More often the silk is a vibrant solid color - shades of blue, navy, violet, burgundy, emerald; or a pastel shade, or the classic cream, white, gold, tan, or mourning black (often worn in v: the Baroness!). Of course, this is paired with the right accessories: jewelry, a trimmed and feathered hat, a beaded shawl, and satin or leather gloves depending on the event. And I must highlight her shoes - often ornately embroidered - are equally a fashion statement. More often than not they're heeled, to give herself some added height (given her petite stature).
Another statement & asset is Priscilla's golden mane of untamable curls. For the most part, it's in an era-specific updo, but she's also donned the more ancient Grecian style. Often her hair is accessorized with some combination of an elegant comb (her iconic one is in the shape of a peacock!), a rose, and/or an elegant hat.
7. 𝙄𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚?  𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝?  𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙤?
A little too much for her own good. This is why she must be protected at all costs so her affections do not go to the wrong person(s)! She's a romantic, and more often in love with the idea of being in love than actually in love.
She is affectionate by her loyalty, her wanting to be with someone (& how frequently), exchanges of sweet nothings, little surprises/gifts, and basis of mutual respect.
8. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙣?
Any ol' position, often little spoon. She tends to steal the covers and/or take up the entire bed somehow no matter what size it is. Otherwise having someone to cuddle helps! Then she'd just go koala mode.
9. 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢?
Probably. Either from hearing Priscilla's rehearsing her singing, laughing at a joke, being the larger than life life of the party she is, or even arguing with a Parisian producer she loves to quarrel with. Otherwise, it's a toss-up.
Tagged by: commandeered from @reverdies
Tagging: YOU!
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twinsinminecraft · 1 year
Note
Snatch to Linus:
"...odd. What is the pack you keep? Are you even suppose to be here...?" The giant tilted his head.
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Linus: Oh, hello! Sorry, I can't see you right now because my goggles are full of water
//Linus is dangling from a tree, while also wet
Linus: Oh this pack? It's just my handy-dandy backpack full of tools and stuff a spy would need in their every day heisting and adventuring. I like to call it the Spy-Bag 3001. I got a Spy-Bag 3000 off the web and added a tool of my own to it!
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mlmxreader · 2 years
Text
Quiet Life | Donny Donowitz x gn!reader
Anonymous asked: Hiya! I've been reading a lot of your Inglorious Bastards stuff lately and all of it is absolutely amazing!!
As a lil' touched starved human, I was wondering if you could make something super fluffy and sweet and nice with Donny?
If not, that's totally cool, I'll read whatever you put out anyways :) have a great day!
summary: you and Donny live a pretty simple life after the war, but that doesn't mean that you're not as in love as you once were.
tws: mentions of injury, mentions of violence, mentions of gun violence, swearing, a little bit of teasing but nothing outrageous
The war had been over for years, and while Donny now walked with a cane instead of his iconic baseball bat, he had gotten out alive and so had you; you had been reunited at the hospital, after he had been operated on and after you had been checked over a few times. Bullet holes and knife slashes became old scars, and while nothing would ever leave, you and Donny managed to find at least a little peace; he worked in his father's barbershop as he had done before the war, while you found yourself a nice little job working with a kennels where abandoned or unwanted dogs were often dropped off, rehabilitating them so then they could be given a second chance. You had a house near his family, only a ten or so minute walk away, one with a big garden down the back and a little one out the front; it was big enough that the first dog you ever worked with, an old greyhound, was allowed to become part of your family.
It was a warm night, the radio in the living room turned up a little to allow music to flood through, the dog sleeping soundly in her basket surrounded with toys and stuff to chew on, and as you relaxed, stretching your legs out and leaning back against the arm od the sofa, you took a quick look at the clock; any minute, Donny would be back from his baseball game, and if there was anything you loved, it was the sight of Donny drenched in sweat and wearing those tight baseball trousers. He had been told not to play baseball more than a couple times a week, and to take it steady, and while at first he complained and he grumbled and he tried to do more than that, he eventually limited himself to one a week.
Any minute he would be back, his hair a mess, the stench of dirt and grass on his clothes, panting furiously and grinning something awful; you could hardly wait, listening to the radio with only a little attention. When the door unlocked, the dog was on her feet, bounding to the door and barking with as much volume as she could, her tail wagging furiously as she switched between jumping up and play bowing; she only calmed down when Donny walked in, chuckling and giving her a little scratch behind the ear.
"Hello, Slim," he shook his head when she mouthed at his hand. He looked over at you. "See, (y/n)? I told you, she hates me."
You rolled your eyes, turning the radio down and waiting for Donny to kick his boots off before he dared to collapse on the sofa, his head on your stomach and his arms wrapped around your thighs; it was little more than instinctual as you dared to run a hand through his hair.
"How was the game?"
"It started out alright, til that fuckin' prick Freddie went and missed the ball," he huffed, shaking his head. "How was work?"
You hummed, smiling a little when he leaned into your touch a bit more. "Not bad. We had a new dog come in today, poor fucking thing... abandoned right at the door."
"What kinda dog?"
"A mongrel," you shrugged. "Vets said it might be a mix between one of them German shepherd types and some kinda pit bull type."
"Maybe we should take it in," he said seriously, big brown eyes drifting up to meet yours, his chin pressed into your stomach. "Y'know Slim's dyin' for a friend."
You chuckled. "Maybe. I'll have a word with Gwen and see what she says tomorrow. How's that?"
"Fuckin' dandy," Donny grinned, moving up so that he could rest his head next to yours, one arm dangling over the edge of the sofa as the other came to lay at the other side of your head. He moved his head to the side so that his temple was pressed against yours. "You should come to the game next week."
"If I have the day off, I don't see why not," you said softly, leaning into him with a contented groan. "But don't forget, we gotta pick up Hugo and Wicki so we can drive down to Aldo's place."
"Oh, shit," he grumbled. "I forgot 'bout that."
"It'll be fun," you reminded him. "Just the Basterds all together again. Even Hicox is gonna be there."
Donny pushed himself up, raising a brow as he tilted his head to the side, an amused smile on his lips. "Hicox?"
"Yeah," you could hardly hold back the laugh. "He's getting a flight from London just to be there."
Collapsing again, Donny held you tightly in his arms as he buried his face against the side of your neck; he was growing his stubble out a lot more these days, keeping it trimmed and neat but the scruff always made you shiver and laugh when he grazed it against the more sensitive areas of your skin.
"Well fuck a duck," he scoffed, his breath warm and making you lean into him a little more.
"That's one way of puttin' it."
But then conversation fell away, not needing to fill the room with words as the radio took over; in all honesty, you were just happy to be there, to be trapped beneath Donny's body and cuddling into him, feeling his breath on your skin and his soft heartbeat beneath your hand when you dared to sneak it up to his neck, resting just to the side of his throat. You were content to just be. To just be wrapped up in one another's presence; after all you had been through, it was a true blessing to just be together. Not having to worry. Not having to dig out fox holes and hide out in them with wide eyes and shallow breaths and shaking heads. Not having to tackle one another to the ground when the shooting started. Not having to worry. Just being able to be.
But then he hissed softly, pulling away so that he could sit upright, clutching his leg a little. "Fuck..."
"Your tablets are on the counter," you murmured, shaking your head when he tried to get up. You kissed his forehead and went to get them for him, making sure to get a glass of water while you were at it, too; he had an awful habit of just swallowing any tablets on their own.
"Thanks..." he muttered when you pressed the tablets into one of his hands and held the glass for him. He quickly got the tablets down and drained the glass, sighing heavily. He leaned back, letting you lean into his side with your head on his shoulder. "I don't think I'll be workin' on the garden tomorrow."
You shook your head, letting out a little sigh as you grabbed his hand and started to draw silly patterns into his skin with your fingertip. "You should get some rest - the most either of us are doing is I'm gonna call Gwen tomorrow to ask about that dog. And you're gonna come downstairs and sit back for the day. Got it?"
"You gonna sit back with me?" He growled, a certain glint of mischief in his big brown eyes.
You tapped his hand gently, trying not to roll your eyes. "You already know the answer to that, Donowitz."
"Donowitz? We gettin' formal now, (y/l/n)?"
"Fuck you."
"You just gotta ask."
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