#mostly because i want to see her in suspender shorts and for her to have fun doing cartwheels

[modstarfell]

how seriously do you think satsuki takes clown code?

[bangchansgirlsblog]

Sweet Angel 👼

Part one:

Has to re-write this

-🩷

**

The clock was ticking. Her heart was pounding as she sat outside the principals office. She said a small prayer because she knew the trouble she was in. She knew this was going to be a good day.

“Y/n. The principal is ready to see you,” Candice, the school receptionist, called for her. She gulped and looked over at the lady. She was tall and had a mini skirt on. Her blouse was see through but no body complained because quite frankly everyone enjoyed the view. She was a hottie after all.

“Goodluck,” Candice said before Y/n could even step into the office. She needed it in order to stay calm and stay collective.

Her shaky hands opened the wooden doors and the smell of fresh books and coffee filled her nostrils as she took a step inside.

“Y/n, please take a sit,” His voice was loud but not scary loud more like loud for no reason loud. Y/n never liked the way he yelled. It was always hours of a lecture that she didn’t give two shits about because she knew she was going to get into trouble again but get away with it anyway.

“Goodafternoon Mr.Zang,” she smiled politely before taking a sit and looking straight at him. It was almost like she was taunting him, making him look like some type of clown.

“Alright let’s cut the crap young lady. We’ve called your brothers in,” her whole body went cold. Her breathing picked up its pace and her shaking hands were very visible now.

“You called my brothers?” She asked in disbelief, “but sir-“

“I don’t want to hear it Y/n, we’ve been going through a roller coaster with you and I think it’s time I set my foot down,” He was signing a piece of paper. The room was dark and mostly made of wood. It was a typical principal study and that creeped her out even more.

She was scared. She was terrified because if Chan was on his way he was definitely pissed off. She was definitely going to be in big trouble and she was definitely going to get killed. She was on her second strike. She had already been kicked out of a school before this and if she got suspended again in this school that meant she was one step away from getting expelled again. That alone would put Chan and all the boys in a coma.

Fuck.

She let out a sigh. This wasn't good at all. At all.

She looked up at the clock again to calculate how much time she had to live. 20 minutes. She had 20 minutes to live and she would spend it in this sad room. Not how she expected her last moments to be.

Her stomach was churning and suddenly the lunch she had eaten wasn’t such a good idea because of the nauseous feeling that came over her. The nerves were eating her alive and at a point she thought she was dreaming.

Her short prayers were interrupted by the doors opening. Had it been 20 minutes already?!

"I'm so sorry I'm late," She heard Chan's voice fill the room. She looked over at the door and gulped when she saw him come in with leeknow glaring at her. A lump in her throat started to form.

Leeknow was the scariest out of them all. He was the only man that scared the shit out of her (after Chan ofcourse) she just knew if it was the two of them (Chan and leeknow) it wasn’t a good thing because the both of them together was like losing a finger while cooking your favorite meal…does that make sense?

"It's okay Mr.Bahng, welcome. Please have a sit." Mr.Zang said pointing at both empty sits right next to Y/n. She made sure to scoot a bit further so she wouldn’t be at punching reach from Chan. (She was just taking safety precautions)

"So what seems to be the matter? what did she do this time and how much will it cost me?" Chan chuckled and she knew straight away that that chuckle wasn't real. It wasn't real at all.

"Im sorry we have to go through this again but today we caught Y/n- well you'll see by yourself," he pointed the tv remote at the tv that sat on the opposite side of the room. It was cctv footage. Y/n cursed herself for not knowing that this man was keeping cameras on her 24/7. She felt dumb. The video tape played and showed Y/n with a bottle of vodka passing it around with her friends. They were behind school in the alleyway between the gym and main hall.

Shit.

She gulped again and looked at the floor not daring to look at Chan or leeknow. Her throat was dry at this point. She could hear a frustrated sigh and a 'you better start praying' from Chan.

"Now Ofcourse we don't tolerate any of this behavior," Mr.Zang turned off the tv and sat back in his chair.

"I understand that sir," Chan replied,

"We will have to put her on suspension for 3 days but I do have a question," he looked back and forth between Leeknow and Chan with a worried look on his face.

"Yes Mr.Zang, what is it?" Leeknow asked.

"Who is at home with Y/n? Is it just you guys?" He questioned the boys while adjusting his glasses.

"No sir, she has a nanny that takes care of her sir. It's me and my other brothers that are in charge of her sir,"

"And what about parents?..." he trailed off. Her heart slightly jumped at the thought of her mum and dad. All she could feel was numbness everytime they had to talk about them.

"We don't have any of that sir, her mum and dad died a while back so I was given custody over her sir," Chan replied politely. He too didn’t like to talk about the death of her parents. It ruined his whole mood because he knew it was a soft spot for his little sister.

“Oh I see because Y/n has been acting out lately and with the grades and her attitude she might not make it past 12th grade,"

She glanced over at Chan who was massaging his temples and trying to stay cool while leeknow sat with his hands crossed and his eyebrows furrowed.

"I understand that sir, I'll make sure she gets on her game,"

"Alright I think that's it, young lady I hope you take this time to reflect on your behavior," he pointed at her. God! She hated Mr.Zang. His pin black hair and beady eyes always creeped her out. Even his golden tooth that always seemed to be glowing no matter what. Ugh.

"Trust me she will be reflecting a lot," leeknow said before shaking Mr.Zang’s hand.

They handed them the peace of document for her suspension so they could sign it and once they had finished she got out of her chair and grabbed her bag from the floor and started following behind her two older brothers. They both were talking to eachother whispering back and forth as she walk quietly behind them. The school corridors were quiet and she was glad because if word got out that  2/8 of straykids were in school, that would be hell for her.

The car was parked outside with the driver in the front seat and when they got into the car and all the doors closed Chan started yelling. Yelling really loud. Her body was trembling at this point.

"What the fuck Y/n?!" He started off. she kept quiet and looked at the ground not daring to look him in the eye. "Oh! So now she can't talk huh?! Now she can't talk!"

"This is so disappointing! Yah! Do you know how embarrassing this is?! Getting called out of rehearsal?!" Leeknow added on.

"I can't even look at you right now! You're so stupid! Why can't you think before you act huh?! Why can't you do things without getting into trouble?!" Chan yelled while bawling up his hands in a fist.

"I'm sorry-" she softly said but she was interrupted by his sharp laugh,

"She's sorry! She's sorry she says! You know what I'm sorry for?! You're grounded for life. Locked up in that house for internal life!" Chan scoffed, "No tv, No phone, No tablet, No computer..oh and you know what else? No more free tickets for your friends! You will stay in that house until I see straight A's again understood?!"

“Yes Chan," She nodded her head,

“Also I’m taking you out of the trainee program. Your not debuting anymore-“

“Chan, please don’t. Please Chan that’s the only thing I have-“ tears started to build up in her eyes. Her heart was shattered. Chan knew how important that was for her. He knew how much she was looking forward to being in a girl group.

“I don’t want to hear it. This conversation is over,”

His face was red and he looked scary but she couldn't help it. Why would he do that? He knew that was my most valuable thing going on in her life.

“Chan I’ll-“

"I don't care! I don't fucking care right now! Just stay quiet and don't even talk to me, don't look at me if you can please don't even breathe the same air as me,"

She looked at him with so much hurt but obeyed his wishes. Her heart was heavy but she couldn't blame him. She deserved it.

She kept quiet and continued to look at the floor as they arrived home. Leeknow was trying to calm Chan down as she got out the car and walked into the house. Tears fell from her eyes at a constant speed.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Han asked, he was sat in the living room with one of his friends but he still chose to leave them and come up to her.

"Y/n? You reek of alchohol, where have you been?" He pulled her into a hug. Concern was written all over his face.

“Don’t touch me,” she tried to remove herself from his grip but it was too tight,

“Talk to me please,” he begged.

"I thought I said I don't want to see your face!" Chan's voice boomed in the room. She got out of Han's grip and quickly run up the stairs sobbing.

"Wait- what happened?" Han asked Chan who was now huffing and puffing.

"She's on Suspension,"

"Again?" Han asked confused, "what did she do this time?"

"Bottles of alcohol in her bag," leeknow explained while rubbing his eyes, tired as usual.

"Where does she even get that?"

"I don't know but I'm starting to get worried about her. I think this is her last strike. What are we gonna do?" Leeknow shook his head.

Chan was fed up and it was so clear, "I don't know but right now I don't want to deal with her crap."

"Chan don't say that, you don't mean it," Han said frowning.

"No I do! Han she has been causing hell! I don't know what to do anymore! I might just have to ship her off to boarding school! I can't be dealing with work stress and her stress! I've tried everything, literally everything but she won't change," he snapped at Han.

“Dont yell at me, I don’t mean any harm,” Han frowned feeling abit attacked, “Chan just give her time, she's just a teenager and she just lost her parents,"

"Who's just a teenager?" Felix asked entering the room from the kitchen.

"Felix back me up here, Chan wants to send Y/nnie to boarding-"

"What?! Why? You can't do that Chan?!"

"I didn't say I would and she got suspended Lix, " he run his fingers through his hair before he started to pace back and forth

"Maybe we can put her in classes? To distract her from being bad?" Han suggested.

"Yeah that's a good idea! That way we can monitor her there too. We can even pick her up after practice," Felix agreed

"We'll see but for now she's grounded for life."

[reedsofintimacy]

Hi everyone! Welcome to my bio! (It's a long one)

You can call me Reeds or Reed. Some basic facts:

💚 I am 25

💚 I am 6'4 = 193cm

💚 I am American

💚 I am ethnically Scandinavian

💚 I speak basic Français and 汉语

💚 I am a virgin 😇 I've actually never had my first kiss

💚 I wear glasses and am definitely a nerd

💚 I am straight

My tags:

#Ask Reeds - my ask responses

#ReedsPosts - my misc short posts

#ReedsWrites - my longer form writing

#ReedsIRL - photos/audio/media of me

I have a snap with the same username and am finally verified on PH! But i haven't posted anything yet.

This bio will be a bit long, so for more info on everything about me click below! 🥳

💚 POSITIONS AND ROLES 💚

I'm a top, meaning I enjoy the act of pleasuring my partner more than having my partner be focused on stimulating me. If we had to pick a position, I'd want it to be the one that feels best to her, because seeing her loving it is what thrills me, less about min-maxing my own sensations

I lean a bit subby, meaning I'd prefer my woman to be in charge and take the lead, but I can be flexible and switch. Society has (sadly 🎻) not created many women who feel naturally comfortable bossing men around in the bedroom or elsewhere and really enjoy it. That's fine, I mostly just want to pamper my partner. Whether that's through worship and service as a sub myself, or spoiling a pillow princess submissive as more of a dom. It feels less natural to me, but when I see how happy and needy it makes her I'm very happy to give it my best 🩷 but I can't do super mean aggressive slap-slap-slap "what did you say to me!?" *punish *punish it just isnt in me.

So combining those two (top and sub), I like the sort of woman who while we're hanging out would decide she wants her pussy eaten, and so would spread her legs, and begin tugging a bit at me coaxing "babyy~ i think you need a little snack~ 😈🫦" and then watch a huge bulge form in my pants as my face makes contact with her thighs and I greedily service her until she can't take it anymore and pulls me up to kiss her instead.

Or while we're in a fitting room shopping for clothes would lift up her skirt, revelaing she isnt wearing any panties, and lean in giving me a big hickey and whisper "you're going to breed me in this fitting room 💋" and giggle as she leaned over into the position that always felt the best for her, eyeing my blushing red embarassed face, hesitating. "Or else I'll moan 👅💕" she'd threaten and tease, but silence herself with a bite of her lip when she felt me slide in and fill her, her personal fucktoy thrusting just the way she taught him until she gets everything she wanted, and then praises me with a "thank you, good boy 🥰😘" enjoying the helpless puddle I've now been turned into. Then slide her pants back on and walk out of the room with her pet's sperm still leaking down her thigh, off to go keep browsing while waiting for me to collect myself.

💚 FETISHES AND KINKDOM 💚

I'm fine with just plain vanilla sex ofc all cuddly and lovey with little growls of "you're mine 🫦"

🩵 BDSM ❓️

I'm not into bdsm like sadomasochism and pain play. Wax, knives, whips, black leather. I just don't get the appeal, I'm soft and sweet. Some light bondage to mix things up, collaring, etc is all fine but not too much beyond that.

🩵 Pegging ❌️

I am *not* into pegging 🙀 (gasp) I know. Heresy. But I don't want anything in my butt, see the above about topping. Although being pinned down and her riding her clit against my bottom to masturbate herself...😏💦

🩵 Humiliation & Praise

I like the idea of humiliation but anytime I've actually heard it its been super cringe. The fantasy of the "popular girls" inviting me to a sleepover just to watch how easy i get hard then pin me down and toy with me knowing whatever they show me would be the most I've ever seen, etc is really sexy to me 🫠 but the moment a real human voice is roleplaying it idk I find it hard to suspend disbelief and not be overly aware of myself and feel silly. Maybe its the anxiety disorder. Praise is always nice 🥰

🩵 Service

I consider myself a service top sub and love to worship and please someone, whatever it is that makes them turned on. That can be giving lots and lots of head and getting my face ridden 😍 or using my hands for her, or giving a foot massage, or chest kneading, or holding her book as she reads, or brushing her hair, or carrying her things, or worshipping her butt with kisses, smooching her tummy, clitwarming her in my mouth while she reads, etc. I love to be useful to someone and that extends to in the bedroom. Bonus if it comes with praise for doing a good job.

🩵 Breeding 💦

Creampies are so sexy, i dunno why you'd want to finish anywhere else. There's something so posessive about insemination and the idea of fertility and a cervix and womb thats just very 🥵. I also think the body changes associated with pregnancy are very sexy. Getting a cute tummy bump and swollen leaky breasts the prove I'm claimed to you now is yummy. But i dont think i want kids, definitely not right now, and theres nothing sexy about labor pains or abortions lol so for now this is more of a mental fantasy kink. But if they invented a birth control pill that still simulated the tummy and tits a bit and needed a particular potency and cycle timing to activate i would be alllll over it 😍😍 also maternity clothes are so cute.

🩵 Dry humping & grinding

I'm a very big virgin, so sometimes overly forward stuff just overloads my senses like blowing out a photograph with sunlight and i dont get much out of it. With dry humping the motions, the desperation, the longing for whats behind her panties but not quite getting it, the involvement of her clit which will feel really nice for her, how she rocks her hips controlling exactly what tempo will make her go absolutely crazy its just so needy and cute and sexy. Id love someone able to get off just by desperately rubbing agsinst my throbby bulge.

🩵 Posession, Lipstick stains, & Hickeys

Possession is very sexy and what better way than cute lipstick marks stamping me as owned. Or a collar, or her name written in sharpie on my underwear, or bites just under the shirt line. I want it all I want to be so so hers.

🩵 Lactation 🙈

Idk if the actual milk would be warm and gross irl but the idea that you can suckle someones pretty tits so hard it makes them leak, and that milk pressure builds up and gets achy needing to be relieved by a subs mouth is very 💦💦💦 plus needed to go through breeding to activate it usually is kinda naughty in a "I did this to you" type of way.

🩵 Me as a Dom

As far as being more of a dom goes, I think I actually prefer the ddlg side of things, which I think is currently out of style and unpopular. But I like the dynamic lending itself to pampering and spoiling someone and being more focused on sweetness relative to just being some sort of master figure. Also like littlespace gear is still so cute like pacis and onesies will be adorable forever its such a mix of cutesy girly and a bit humiliating for someone to wear that I really think it works 🩷When I identified more as a dom I kinda always wanted an abdl sub to baby and still think its cute and degrading and hot & am embarassed to admit that, I never e-dated anyone who actually did it. 💖 but if I'm the sub, while I have a mommy kink I'm not into regression or any of that stuff myself

🩵 Omo/pee (her, not me) sounds spicy and is hot to watch, idk if it'd gross me out irl. I used to be really into videos of girls wetting their pants or panties and something about it is still strangely hot. Have a tiny maybe fantasy of a girl making out with me straddling my lap and then just letting her bladder go as we kiss and grind soaking us both. 🙈

🩵 Collaring and petplay is cute, I'd totally wear one for her.

🩵 Getting referred to as "my little white boy" by a nonwhite person with a thing for white guys (🙈🙈 SHUTUP!!)

🩵 Minor humiliation like being teased by her panties or sat on/used as a stool etc

🩵 Not really an irl thing but in hentai when the girl is overstuffed and you can see the bulge pushing up her tummy 🥵

🩵 Corruption, of either of us and especially me.

🩵 Dirty Talk

One of my absolute favorite things to do is get to talk to someone as they touch themselves 🩷 turning them on with my fantasies and then begging them to please please please cum, spamming my words as they release so they can just read and not have to type just feel like im there with them 🥰

💚 MY "TYPE" IN WOMEN 💚

My taste in women irl is that I always have the biggest crush on the kindest girl 🙈 like the one who's proactive and honestly makes me feel bad for not being a better person when I'm around her. Someone who listens, has a big heart, Christmas is her favorite holiday just because of the cheer and her sweet childhood memories and she thinks its cute to hold hands. Who focuses on the positives whenever possible and wouldn't compromise her ideals to fit in socially. Not into gossip or putting people down, is nice to strangers, waitresses, etc. I think you get the point. Something about those sort of people imprints deep into my heart 💟

I am into successful, intelligent, driven women. Like "I was the president of ___ club, I'm a ___ position in this company, I have a degree in ___, I speak ___ and ___ languages, I play the ___" it all makes me just 🥵🥵🥵. I'd love someone who has some sort of public skill/hobby like playing in an orchestra 😍 or doing community theater or playing in a sports team, anything where I can show up and get to be a cheerleader like 🥹😻 that's my baby up there!!! And get to clap and cheer and compliment how she did I just think would be super cute and fun. Then take her out to dinner afterward for doing such a good job ⭐️

I don't find typical domme-aesthetic things like -- *Smoking *Vapes *Weed *Lots of tattoos *Short hair *Goth vibes *fishnets *dyed hair *promiscuous *into knives and blood -- to be very attractive personally. Just not my type.

I'm more into miss innocent church girl, honors student valedictorian who secretly has had a high sex drive awakened and guess who walked right into her trap 👀💦 she secretly corrupted herself and now she's going to corrupt me 🙈❤️‍🔥

I totally get the sex appeal around the bully type domme who is all tough, even if she shows you her sweet side, and that sounds super hot on paper but idk irl I just don't seem to be into people who are actually that way. Its very "sexy" but it isn't compatible on a deeper layer

I don't really care about age. Obviously they *must* be legal but college student who is younger than me vs someone my age vs milf who is a bit older it's all a wash. All have their distinct appeal. All get a 👍.

Height is also inconsequential. I mean I'm (6'4 193cm) or thereabouts so I'm nearly always going to be a fair bit taller than my partner regardless of her height. I think the size difference is cute, something about having a 4' in your height is just idk a bit hot? Lol but i have no real preference I like the whole spectrum and never really think about height, and hypothetically if I *could* find a woman who's my height or taller, that'd be sexy too 🥰 Different flavors but all delicious.

I am a genuine fan of both more curvy and more skinny body types, but less so each extreme. A slim figure and grabbable waist i can fit my hand around and a lil *pow* booty is scrumptious, but if she's so skinny its like borderline unhealthy and it feels like id break her if I grab her wrong and I can see all her bones 😬. Of course I'm very happy to support a partner struggling with an ed or who has had one in the past, but I want my darling more than anything to be healthy. Likewise curvy people can be extremely yummy 😋😍, I love a curvy tummy in a bikini it oozes fertility. but if its to the extent it prevents her from going on cute lil hikes with me and creates health problems then I'd want to help her workout and cook her some homemade healthier food so she can feel better and be more energized and well. But purely aesthetically ❤️ curvyness is a yes. So are stock standard body types ❤️

Breasts and everything to do with the body is actually kinda gravy because for me its the *face* that I'm attracted to and the body is just the fun present that comes along for the ride. Nothing about someones chest size or whatever would make me unattracted to them if i liked their face. Buttt obviously a full chest is nice, but i hesistate to say big because it really depends on weight and body. Fullness relative to body type so that it 🥳 pops is most sexy. So a skinnier girl will be a smaller size, but being skinny and still having a fairly prominent bosom makes it 🥳 pop. Likewise being curvy will grow the size, but some people already big will now develop 💥turbo milkers💥 that 🥳 pop. So its less about surface area or bra size and more about protrusion from the chest, and ofc big is nice ❤️ that being said an itty bitty chest while independently less sexy becomes part of a persons vibe and fits into the whole which as a connected body can be very attractive 💋 Plus then you get to wear pretty bralettes. I'm not really hyper aware of tit sizes but I did want to explain what I think most guys mean when they say they like "big tits" but also we dont pay that close attention a boob is a boob and theyre all fun so just 🩷 love your body mkay?

Bootys i notice less person to person, theres just like 3% of the population that has 💥💥 in their pants and *also* dresses to accentuate it and show it off and look we all think those people are 🤤🤤 like making a protruded lil mound out of their tight jeans or rocking some yoga pants or leggings. Hottie hot hot but 97% of us have unremarkable normal butts.

One thing I *am* really into, the closest thing I have to a "type" is long hair ✨️✨️. Like i have never seen a girl with hair past her butt I didn't want to marry. Mid-back 😀 waist length 😃 past butt 🤪 the longer the better. Idk what it is it just seduces and intoxicates me its so pretty. I know its such a pita for women to maintain which is why its very rare, and my partner can have her hair however she wants it i wouldnt want her to suffer for me, but super long hair is just goddess tier its like the one physical attribute i have a clear robust preference on. Short hair indeed can be cute but long hair will always win in my heart. Straight, a bit wavy, curly honestly it doesnt matter that much its all gorgeous. Long hair my beloved 💕 may i have my lady sit on my lap and allow me to brush it for her some day. I want to help wash it and learn 1,000 ways to style it for her, although hanging free is the best 😍

People have different physical sensitivities, and I think I prefer having a pretty sensitive partner. I've had before during sexting where I'd spend 3 hours naughty talking someone and sexting while they touch and still just barely cum by the end, and other partners where we'd be going 20 mins and she'd go 🥺 I'm really close and I'd beg her to let it go and then she'd release and then probably be too sensitive to even go again for a whole day. That was soooo cute and sweet to me. Since I love pleasing someone so much getting that validation more quickly was really nice and also fit my schedule better, and it would be so creamy and throbby and pulsy when she was done it made my eyes roll back to just watch it. And she'd have to be so careful about how much she touched or it would ache even if she was soaked and horny still. It was really endearing ❤️ everyone is different and needs different amounts of time but I'd prefer someone where I can pour everything into a really great 30 or 40 mins as opposed to being up all night trying to get them off. Being especially creamy is also a plus 🤭

I'm totally fine with someone who is a little too tight and has to be really gentle with themselves, its cute and I don't mind at all if most days all she can tolerate is a gentle tonguing and some kissing. Same with if she's too sensitive and has to stop early before I finish, so long as she gets off and is satisfied I'm a happy camper 😇💖 But nothing wrong with stamina either

So concludes the sexual information!

💚 About Me Personally 💚

🩵 I am musical 🎶

I play the guitar 🎸 and previously played the drums 🥁 and piano 🎹 and even have a clarinet

🩵 I'm a big reader 📖

I have a particular interest in Classical Eastern Literature and have read things like the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the Valmiki Ramayana, Journey to the West etc. I'm a big fan of classics in general, my favorite book of all time is the Count of Monte Cristo

I also have been getting into classical SciFi, been reading a lot of PKD and some Dan Simmons and Kurt Vonnegut and it's been really enjoyable so far.

🩵 I'm a programmer

I can do fullstack web development from html to nginx and work mostly within the dotnet ecosystem.

🩵 I'm a nerd en général

I love learning things. My first love is the sciences, I went to college for chemistry. I would love to have time to improve my terrible math skills and pick up Korean as a another language, and want to level up my world history especially with regards to Africa and Southeast Asia both of which I am fairly unacquainted with.

You can talk to me about productivity systems, desk setups, fountain pens, video games, and other weird nerd things.

🩵 I want to travel

I've never left the US and one day would love to get to see more of the world.

🩵 I do some amateur writing

I enjoy making my lil erotica mini stories here, and also sometimes in my freetime plan out silly novels and short stories never to be published but just for fun.

💚 I think I'll end things here for now, there's definitely more to me but that should be an effective enough primer. If you made it this far and havent dm'd me...wtf is wrong with you?? We're basically already friends now? 😘

[pinkeoni]

El has only worn a dress and makeup three times in the show, and each time Mike is involved, as well as a lie.

The first time is of course in season one, when the boys dress her up in a disguise so they can sneak her into school.

Mike also does her makeup. Now maybe this is just meant to be seen as a sweet romantic moment, but it’s also important that Mike is the one putting makeup on her, he’s the one dressing her up as something she’s not.

The point is that eventually the wig and the makeup come off, and the dress gets dirty. ‘Cause it’s not her. There’s even a moment where she looks at her reflection and rips the wig off, because it’s not her.

(The buzzcut isn’t her either, but that’s because she hasn’t ever had the chance to be herself)

The dress and makeup is also when El lies to the boys about the location of the gate.

But it’s when the outfit gets dirtied that she confesses her secret.

I should mention that I don’t think the show is trying to say that dresses and makeup is a bad thing, it’s just not El’s thing. Nancy wears makeup and dresses, and it’s not shown as a bad thing. But that’s Nancy’s style, El’s style tends to lean more androgynously. When she picks out her own clothes at the mall it’s mostly suspenders, collared shirt and pants/shorts, with splashes on femininity like scrunchies and bold pops of color. (And these clothes fit her form better too, because they fit her better.)

El is also wearing a dress and makeup in episode 4x02. We first see it at the airport when they’re picking up Mike.

When I first noticed this it struck me as a little… odd. Not that she doesn’t look good, but it feels out of character. It looks very grown up, especially compared to the makeup that we see any of the other girls wearing. Take Angela and Chrissy for example, who both wear makeup that feels much more age appropriate. (If anything I’m willing to bet that El asked Joyce to do her makeup that morning)

She’s also wearing this makeup and dress at Rink-O-Mania, where she continually lies to Mike.

But she gets caught up in her lie, and this dress get’s dirty too. (Not to mention the dress is very loose on her)

Now the odd one out seems to be her Snow Ball outfit when she dances with Mike.

The dress looks a little more like something she would have picked out (albeit it still looks a little loose on her) and the makeup is bright and more age appropriate. Plus, the dress does not get dirty.

Which makes sense, she wants to go to the Snow Ball. She’s happy to be there! And I think that’s all true, but it’s still interesting that the other two times she wears a dress it’s associated with a lie, so this is just a break in the pattern?

Unless, there is something that she’s being dishonest about, that the audience has not been explicitly told yet.

[leonawriter]

One of my favourite ideas with regards to Ryoji is this sort of... thing where he can just exist outside of time somehow, because of how short a time he's allowed to exist in reality.

(massive spoilers for P3 onward past this point, obviously, if you haven't already gone through the game.)

[EDIT: I've cleaned it up a bit and edited and put it on AO3. So, if you want like... an entire extra scene plus some, go here.]

Which is great in theory, but a bit more complicated if you wanna put it into practice, other than going "well, he's here because... oh, a wizard did it." There are possibilities and plausibles, but they're frankly limited if you have (like me) a logical mind and a need for something to suspend your disbelief.

Except then I had a thought - Ryoji is also known as Death, or Thanatos. He takes on that role at the climax, even. So, I started thinking along those lines, and wound up with-

Ryoji the psychopomp. Ryoji, the grim reaper.

Not "the Reaper" as in the one that roams dungeons (he exists during P3 and is implied by design to be connected somehow to Tatsuya Sudou, anyway).

More like, that it's a case of "Life gave her creations to Death, no matter what they both knew would happen the moment he touched them."

Minato (or Kotone) dies on the school rooftop, and there he is, able to talk to them, and they're able to tell him that everything worked out, that everything will work out. Their spirit lingers at the Door, and they talk like it's passing notes in class.

A young girl finds herself on the receiving end of unwanted advances, and then she's somewhere strange, confronted with uncomfortable and unwanted truths, and then- then, there's a boy in a yellow scarf wanting to know all of the things that she loved about her life. At first it's strange, and more than a bit hard to think of things for this weird guy who she's never met before, but the more she talks the more she realises that she really did have things she treasured.

He thanks her for telling him, and as she makes her peace with the fact that this is it, he tells her that he'll keep them in his heart now, too.

Wakaba Isshikki knows about the cognitive realm - a little too much, perhaps, but not enough to stop. Enough, perhaps, to see the shadow of a boy following her for a day or two. Enough to feel as though she's already living on borrowed time, when she feels that surely she knows what's happening, and she simply... doesn't care.

She's a little wispy, still, when he leads what's left of her toward the Sea of Souls where she now belongs. He's concerned, and rightly so, about what that means. Wakaba's more worried about the kids.

(A few people don't get Ryoji. Those unhappy few get the floating mask of Death and a series of coffins to tell them that their time has come. For some it's because even in death they have no humility, and for others still it's simply easier, that way. Easier to not be Ryoji wile dealing with it, even if it would have been easier still to simply walk away and let them find their own way to the Sea.

But Kunikazu Okumura had sent so many his way, that it was only right that Death came to meet him personally.

"I didn't even get to finish my speech," the man said, blubbering after the towering figure that Death made.

You had a daughter, Death reminded him, and he was silent the rest of the way.)

Goro Akechi comes to, and the first thing he sees is a bright yellow scarf.

The first thing he does is swear, because boys with slicked-back hair wearing yellow scarves aren't supposed to exist when you're dead. The second thing he does is look around, and realise that you aren't really supposed to exist in a sea of stars and sit on nothing when you're alive, either.

"Please tell me this isn't the afterlife," he says, mostly because although he figured it could be worse - he could have found himself in hell, or surrounded by all of the people he'd killed over the years, all of the ones who had every reason to make his afterlife hell if it wasn't already - it could definitely be better.

"It is and it isn't," comes the cryptic answer. "Usually it is, more or less. Each of those lights represents a soul, after all." And there were so many of them. "But you're a special case! You're both dead and not dead right now, which, usually that doesn't happen? People can almost die but not actually die, but they aren't usually both at the same time, I mean."

"Maruki," Akechi practically spits out. "In that case, I'm surprised you're not inundated right now."

Blue eyes - far too blue to be human, they almost remind him of Morgana, and he was neither human nor a cat, apparently - duck down, glancing away.

"I felt what happened. Everyone caught up in a lie, completely oblivious... if the one controlling that power had wanted to bring ruin, then..." But he shakes his head, bringing himself out of his own thoughts. "It's a good thing that didn't happen, really! And- you're wrong, by the way."

"What?"

"Like I said, you're a special case. I've been able to talk to a lot of people, but I've never been able to ask anyone to send a message back before!"

"Back?" For a moment, Akechi is reduced to parroting back words. Surely they mean something, but the obvious meaning is impossible, and he can't think of anything else. "Who would someone like you even want to send a message to, anyway?"

"Would you believe me if I said they were old enemies, who were also old friends? But, I guess you've had a few of those yourself, right?"

"What would you even know about me?"

Akechi got a lopsided, bittersweet smile in return.

"I've been following you for a lot longer than I think we'd both have liked," come the words that send a shiver down his spine as instincts and senses that were rusty from disuse told him what that meant even as his more conscious mind shied away from the idea of it. "But I hope that after this, we won't be able to talk again for a long, long time."

Something tells Akechi that he's both in no danger whatsoever, and also that he really shouldn't refuse. He expects to be on a strict deadline (ha, dead) but time moves differently here, and apparently they have exactly as much time as they need. No more, and not a second less.

When he opens his eyes again, he can remember everything-

Someone really wanted you to live, Ryoji had said, with a teasing smile, and bright eyes.

It makes him feel small. It makes him feel indebted - to Akira, to Ryoji, in ways that he can't even begin to examine or think of how to repay. It makes him want to give it all back, so that he doesn't have to deal with it, but that would be purely theoretical and besides, he has promises to keep.

First, a debt to Akira, something that to Akechi feels like barely a drop in the ocean and that hopefully Akira and his friends will feel the correct amount of gratitude for.

Secondly-

"Hello- yes, this is Goro Akechi speaking. Is this Mitsuru Kirijo-san? I have a message to pass on to you. Are the names Ryoji Mochizuki and Minato Arisato familiar to you, at all?"

[possibilistfanfiction]

This seems really indulgent and I know (and love!) footy au so no pressure at all but -- more butch Bea? Would make my day anytime, whatever you might have in mind! :) Thank you for your words

[i love indulgence, here's what was supposed to be one scene & ended up being 8.4k words about how remarkable it is to be butch :) for @unicyclehippo , also on ao3]

//

giving your body to ava is easy; giving your body to yourself is the hard part.

you’re supposed to protect her, you’re told: keeping her safe is the only thing that matters. you understand, as you tug a scratchy blanket up over her shoulders on a train to a little town nestled in the alps, that you are in charge of keeping ava safe because she’s the halo-bearer, because she’s the key to slaying demons and defeating adriel and heaven and hell and the earth between. you’re not supposed to keep her safe because she’s ava, but her breaths are warm against your neck, tucked in safely, her chin on your shoulder — you will keep her safe. it’s a vow you take with the gravitas you have your others, perhaps even more certain, sure, clear: you will keep ava safe.

you’ve felt the same impulse — not as strong, and not as sharp, but the same — toward a few people you’ve known. mackenzie, in third grade, after keith, a fourth grader, called her a bitch at recess, and it was easy, so easy, to let the anger well up in you and to, just like you’d been trained in aikido since you were five, punch him in the throat. you’d had to go to the principal’s office after a small riot had erupted, and you’d sat, sullen, while your principal told your mother and father what had happened. they asked you to apologize, and the words — rotten and wrong — got stuck in your throat. you were suspended for a week and your parents made you go to bed without dinner the entire time; your stomach ached to the point of physical pain and it was hard to think, but when you went back to school, mackenzie had smiled big and bright and had kissed your cheek and brought extra cookies to share at lunch, and it was so worth it.

you’d felt the same impulse in eighth grade, with marin, your best friend. she would come over after archery, and she said she didn’t mind that you were sweaty, even though you knew, objectively, it was gross. marin was always wearing a ripped denim jacket you were, silently, in love with, and her parents let her put purple streaks in her dark hair, and you couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth, even during algebra II, your favorite class. you learned to walk, on impulse, between her and the road whenever you were on the sidewalk; you held hands and felt proud: you were, in ways you had no idea how to name, hers. she pressed you up against the packages of mein and liangpi and cans of kidney beans in your pantry and kissed you, quietly and softly, one day. your first kiss, in the dark in the closet, and you had frozen stock still because — homosexuals are going to hell; that’s not love, that’s a sin, every sunday, and wednesdays during lent and vespers too, all the rosaries in the world won’t take away the way marin sighing into your mouth feels so perfect you want to die in it — it’s in your core, this want. so, of course, you kiss her back. you don’t know what you’re doing, have only watched movies where boys kiss girls or maybe you’d mostly skipped those parts; maybe in bend it like beckham you had paid attention to keira knightly’s short hair and her stomach and jesminder’s smile and the curve of her nose and found it more compelling than the men’s matches your dad takes you and your brother to see. your hands are shaking but you fist them in marin’s hair, coarse and curly and perfect, and you think you might explode when she rests her palm on your hip. it feels a little like jumping off a cliff.

and even your father walking in on you hadn’t stopped you from the want; your mother’s you’re disgusting; i’d rather you take your own life than be gay and the priest at their church telling you, quite clearly, that being a lesbian would result in eternal damnation. even that hadn’t been enough to stop the awful and bright desire to help krishna fix her shelf in her dorm in switzerland when you were sixteen, to accept her thanks in the form of laughter and sweet halwa. you are wrong, you know so, because your parents had seen you kissing a girl and you hadn’t wanted to repent; you had wanted to protect marin from speeding cars and hold her hand in the rain and fall asleep curled up next to her with a movie playing in the background, one where girls kiss and they don’t die afterward. it’s a suicide mission, maybe, the way krishna’s skirt rides up to her underwear while she sits on her bed and watches you level the shelf, her brown skin and the stretch marks you think are beautiful, that you think about kissing, all the time. you learn fencing and archery and you get multiple blackbelts in kendo; one of your sensei has a bright smile and short hair and the most precise hands. she’s beautiful in a way you don’t understand, not really, not yet: her hair is cropped short, and her jaw is square and compelling, and she speaks softly and kindly. when she corrects one of your stances you feel a race of electricity down your spine, the opposite of the stress you feel as your hips get bigger, as you go through the embarrassing ordeal of learning how to put a tampon in, as you have to go up a size with your sports bra. she teaches you to use a bo, and there are many things you can’t name: the power; the ache — you see a reflection that feels so much like a home to you that you are not supposed to want that you don’t know how to face it.

most of the girls in your school had gone to university; you had opened your letters from oxford; from tsinghua; from harvard; from the eth, with steady, sure hands, reading the acceptances calmly. it wasn’t hard, not this part: you braid your hair carefully each day and feel a little like throwing up every time you had to put your skirt on, the weekends and your aikido and judo classes and the standard, starchy, thick gi the most profound reprieve — you studied and you took your exams and it was easy, to become an asset, to become a weapon. you’re brilliant, all of the adults in your life tell you so. you stare at your ceiling and on the bad nights you can’t feel your hands. on the bad nights you want to touch yourself so badly you could scream, and you let your fingers wander down your stomach into the curls that have grown dark between your legs, and you think of stupid keira knightly’s hipbones and you feel the wetness there before you pull your hand away, every time. it’s wrong, to want like you do: to think of what a tweed jacket like your professors wear would look like, how your shoulders would be square and strong; every now and then, you stare at the scissors in your bathroom, for trims in the months between semester breaks when you can leave the grounds, and wonder what it would be like to just cut your hair short, how you might get in trouble but it also might be a relief. there is so much grace you can’t give to yourself yet.

of course, you’re not brave enough for any of it. you are brave, enough, however, to want to die: the ocs is bloody and brutal and a home unlike one you’ve ever known. it’s easier to push all of the sin down and fashion yourself useful, so useful if anyone, anyone at all, ever found out what you think about in the middle of the night, they would still have to value you: you have your arrows and your knives and your sisters and the most beautiful bo you had ever seen. you have your habit and your combat boots; you eat three exacting meals a day and you want and you want and you fucking want — but you tell ava about it, as clearly as you can, and she just loves you. you’re rude, for a second, but she sits patiently and doesn’t judge you for your tears or the curling desire in your chest, and then, what feels like a literal miracle, she tells you that you’re beautiful and you want to be called that, you want to be called handsome, you want her to laugh at your jokes and stare too long at your freckles. you want to love her, and you do: you want ava, who is so pretty and kind, despite it all, to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you will be there for her. so you bandage the cut along your cheekbone in the train car and don’t think of the acceptance letters you had calmly thrown in your trashcan, or the thick watch the woman in front of you was wearing, her sleeves rolled up her forearms, or the way ava is warm and soft and you will gone on as many suicide missions as it took to protect her. to protect her, not the halo, not the church: ava.

she stirs eventually and smiles up at you, groggy and grateful and trusting, like she knows you won’t let anything bad happen to her; it’s easy to let her touch you, to let her lean on you, to let her use you for anything she needs. your heart swells as she burrows deeper into your side.

/

the first time you really allow yourself to think of it, this monstrous, lovely ache inside of you, is when lena, a shopkeeper in switzerland with a neat fade, a perfect quiff combed neatly on top, streaked with grey, and an impeccable linen suit, hands you a pair of pants. ava is in the dressing room trying on a pile of tiny clothes — which you do your absolute best not to think about — and the soft material and exact stitching: neat pleats that will accommodate the small flare of your hips; a straight leg that will sit at your ankle. lena smiles and offers you a few button downs, oversized and collarless, tailored perfectly, and she doesn’t know you’re a nun but you take them all and tell yourself that they’re suitable for you because they’re modest, because they won’t draw attention — not the way ava’s brightly patterned button down she ties into a crop top will, not the way ava will, just inherently, with her perfect smile and elegant brow. you’re drawn to earth tones, to subtle patterns, to thick cotton that drapes without sitting against your chest too snugly. ava loves your clothes, apparently, which is mostly expected because ava loves everything and, you’re certain of it, ava loves you. not as a sister warrior, not as a nun, but as beatrice, which is perhaps the scariest thing of them all.

/

one day, while ava is working and you have unadulterated and unmonitored time to yourself, you let your feet carry you to lena’s shop. ava has been reading you poems at night, and she’s been steadily collecting a few vinyl to play on the phonograph, even though it’s prone to skipping. it’s a life, gentle and slow, even with your training and the looming threat of an apocalypse of literally biblical proportions, and you have no idea how to reconcile who you have always tried to be with who you are, and what you want.

the first night you had been in switzerland, in your tiny apartment with dust and lumpy furniture and ava’s desperately excited energy, you had sat on the couch quietly as she puttered around and then finally settled in bed. you had lied back on the couch, and she had huffed and then sat up: ‘bea, what are you doing?’ she had asked.

you hadn’t been able to find the words that you really meant so instead you’d told her, ‘i’m keeping watch,’ and you hadn’t had to look away from the water stain on the ceiling to know she was rolling her eyes. you had argued, a little, but the couch was genuinely so uncomfortable and you hadn’t slept in so long, you’d gotten up and shuffled to the unoccupied side of the bed. ‘are you sure this is okay?’ you’d asked, and she’d squinted.

‘why wouldn’t it be?’

you had frowned and bitten your bottom lip and stumbled through, ‘because i — i’ve told you, i —‘

ava had rolled her eyes. ‘i don’t care what your sexuality is, beatrice. what i do care about is you sleeping; you’re dead on your feet.’ she had paused and waited for you to situate yourself under the covers, stiffly on your back, and she had huffed a breath and then — slowly, and you were not the only one who understood the overstep of nonconsensual touch, the pain and fury — settled her head just under your chin, resting on your chest. ‘i trust you to keep me safe.’

looking back, maybe that was it, maybe that was the moment you understood: one day, you want to wear a suit to a nice dinner; you want loose, perfectly tailored pants and expensive, thick cotton and for women and femme people — someone like ava; ava herself, you allow yourself — to think that you are attractive, that you’re sexy, that you would do anything to make sure they’re cared for. that you delight in it.

lena is a miracle herself, you think: she understands who you are, or, at least, who you want to be, buried underneath the rubble of a thousand explosions you’d set off along your spine and within your ribcage. she hands you a beautiful suit, and she lets you try it on; some days, you have tea with her wife and practice your arabic and you blush at aleyna’s gravely voice and the way she talks about her favorite art. you are overcome, when you see yourself in the mirror; your soul, eternal longevity be damned, leaps: there you are. you do up an elegant pair of cufflinks and look at a reflection you have always wanted to know.

there you are.

/

ava’s freedom is enviable: she wears clothes she loves and excitedly lets you cut her hair to her chin, because she wants to and because she thinks it’s fun and it’ll look so cute, bea, and she smiles afterward, laughs at herself, delighted, in the mirror. you let her think she’s convinced you of something really exciting and serious when you agree to get highlights; mostly, it makes her happy, and it’s not exactly what you want, but it’s something. ava flirts with boys, and ava flirts with girls, and she leans forward against the bar and winks at you when you drag your eyes away from her chest. some days, you think you might strike up the nerve to ask her, late at night, after you’d heard her touching herself in the shower, stifling little moans: what does it feel like to want with abandon? what is it like?

but you don’t: you dance with her, your head hazy, and you leave a letter — too sentimental, too telling, but a breath — for lena and her wife before you flee. you fight your way through all of madrid and an awful, nightmare of a vision of her with the fog, and then you hold her in your arms, once, after she dies again, after she falls and her body explodes inside its skin — literally. you pray and pray and pray — to her, not a single thought spared for god, and you would give up everything in your life: your vows, your worth, everything, for her to be alive. and she is, eventually, and you help her out of your clothes and it’s a kind of honor in this too: she trusts you not to hurt her, never to hurt her. she trusts you, in the shower, while you’re in an undershirt and boxers and you clean the blood from her ears, to be gentle to her, and to keep her safe.

you have your habit and your robes and your weapons; with each passing day, you become more and more terrified that ava is going to die. you love her; you want, in some way, to spend your life with her, whatever that might mean. but where does it all lead for you if she does die? you clutch your rosary in your hand and feel a very particular horror: who are you, if not for ava’s love? where, now, would all that want go?

/

ava kisses you. it’s your second kiss; you’re the second person she’s kissed, you know as much, but it doesn’t matter: you’ve held her before. you know this, as surely as you know anything. she has been many people, in some way or another, and maybe you have to. there’s so much of your life that has never been yours but the decision to follow her lips as she draws back and bring your hand to her jaw rests in your hands, as steady as they are when you have your bo, and far gentler.

ava kisses you, as she decides to die. you hold her as her body — this beautiful, small, miracle of a body that you love, that you love — fails her, with a particular finality as it glows blue and crumples. you know, when you send her through the portal, that you are going to have to leave this life you have forced down your throat and driven into the marrow of your bones like rods in the center. i love you, you tell her. you hope she knows.

/

no one cares, you realize, if you try on a pair of men’s jeans at a thrift store in berlin. in fact, robbie compliments them casually; you’re not sure if they know how much it means, but they have a lump of skirts in their arms and a neatly trimmed beard and glamorous blue eyeliner today, so you think they probably do. you pull the pants on in the dressing room: they’re light washed, and loose; they fall just at the bottom of your ankles, and you cuff them twice and pull on the sturdy blundstones you’ve worn all over the world at this point. you can see yourself in them in the winter, a big, elegant peacoat and a scarf pulled around your neck, and soft and warm; you can see yourself in them in the summer, rolled up with sandals and an oversized t-shirt. it’s different, than the time you’d tried on a suit — more casual, more variable — but the recognition is there all the same.

‘did you like them?’ robbie asks, meeting you at the front with a few skirts and a crop top that pangs in your chest because robbie will look great in it; because ava would love it.

‘i loved them,’ you say, and a knot releases somewhere in your chest.

/

you end up in los angeles — one tattoo on the top of your wrist and a surfing lesson booked — mostly because it’s the city of angels, which feels a little inevitable, and also mostly because it’s so far from anything you’ve ever known. you keep to yourself at first, mostly, but then you make casual conversation with a few of the surfers out near your airbnb every morning, and they love your accent and give you pointers on how to pop up on your increasingly smaller board and invite you to an arooj aftab show at the broad. it aches, to live this life without ava, even though it’s what she wanted for you, what she asked of you.

you drive along the hellish freeway to make it on time, and you let your friends buy you a drink at the outdoor bar, a little paper wristband signaling you’re over 21 after you’d shown your ID at the entrance; you had agonized over what to wear and settled on your favorite pair of pants, one that you’ve had since switzerland, a wide-legged pair in a deep navy that lena had tailored to fit your waist properly, and a linen collarless button down in a seafoam so pale it’s almost white, the sleeves cuffed up to your elbows, a pair of airforce 1s which your friend had promised you are, without fail, cool. you feel nervous but then your friends seriously look through some art pieces in the museum before the show, and one of them has on a pair of leather chaps, and no one cares at all. you’ve pulled your hair up into a careful, smooth bun for as long as you can remember, and at the show you close your eyes and let your heart hurt: you miss ava. you miss the love of your life, and you miss your faith, and you miss something you’ve wanted your entire life: to be seen as who you are. to be brave enough.

there’s lilting smoke and bright lights diluted by it, everything striking in urdu; you can’t translate each word, of course not, but you do understand: there are so many ways to pray. there are so many gods to pray to.

your friend drops you off at your apartment later that night; you stand in the kitchen in your black sports bra and the simplest pair of black cotton underwear you could find, and let your hair out of its bun. your skin is clean and clear and you have more freckles now than you have your entire life. your hair has gotten long, and every few days someone decides to tell you it’s beautiful. it is, you guess, even though, sometimes, it doesn’t feel like yours. you’d watched paris is burning a few weeks ago, alone at night when it was dark and the only noise you could hear was the gentle brush of the waves outside, after you’d poured yourself one of your favorite ipas and made popcorn, after you’d liet yourself eat a piece of pizza even though you hadn’t gone on a run earlier. you don’t feel like yourself, not all the way: you don’t always want to look at your hips and your chest and when your hair tickles along the middle of your back you have to close your eyes and breathe through it; you love the muscles that have grown sharper and bigger along your arms and the ink in your skin and the way your thighs cut strong and taper down to your knees, the color of your eyes at sunset. you are becoming; it hurts.

you watch the holiness in the ballrooms and you know: people have been far, far braver than you. loving ava — loving yourself — is not a kind of death sentence; it’s a kind of life.

/

camila facetimes you in the mid-morning, after you’ve just finished sparring. you’re in a sports bra, the weather too hazy and hot to wear your entire gi on the full walk home. camila grins when she sees your bare shoulders.

‘picking up the ladies, bea?’

you’ve never definitively said anything, but you kissed ava and then renounced your vows and, honestly, you think everyone probably knew the entire time anyway — it’s not as scary as you thought it would be: camila’s eyes are bright and clear and she’s just calling to say hi. there’s no condemnation; there’s no judgement, only your friend, your sister.

‘no, no,’ you say, and camila pouts, which makes you laugh. ‘it’s just hot.’

‘probably because you’re shirtless on the streets of los angeles.’

‘it’s a two block walk home from my dojo, camila.’

‘you’re not a nun anymore,’ she says. ‘let me have a little fun with it, at least.’

you’re quiet, just a beat too long.

‘how are you doing?’ she asks, resolute and gentle like always.

it goes without saying: you miss ava so much it feels like you’ve broken your wrists; you are in love with the world. ‘i’m — i’m figuring it out.’

it’s a more hopeful answer than camila was expecting, clearly, because she perks up and smiles.

‘well,’ she says, ‘it looks good on you.’

/

one night you think of the curve of ava’s rib. the twelfth, exactly, the way it wrapped slightly in her back, near her spine, a flutter away. you think of the way her shirt rode up in the middle of the night, how she rolled over onto her stomach and you saw the dimples above the waistband of her shorts, the curve of her ass, the nape of her neck, the delicate press of her wrists. it felt wrong, to look like that, your eyes red with sleep — but she was there, and she was so, so beautiful.

one night you can’t sleep and you close your eyes and think about the way ava’s lips had felt against yours. you try not to concentrate on any of the bad, just for now, just for a breath, just for this sliver of moonlight and the quiet seep of your desire onto your fingers when you press between your legs.

you wonder, absently, if hell will open up and swallow you whole. you rub circles around your clit and try, so hard, to listen to your body, to trust it like you had only learned how to do in a fight, like you had only allowed yourself in moments of pain and danger. but you’re safe, in this big bed by the ocean, and you think of ava’s twelfth rib and heaven and you come silently, pleasure drenching down your spine as you allow it to curve into the light.

you give your body to yourself, just for a few minutes, and it feels like heaven. you lie back against your pillow and blink open your eyes and laugh.

/

ava has been back for less than twelve hours before she flits through your closet. you’ve picked up pieces here and there, mostly earth tones, mostly loose and comfortable fabrics; you have a few hoodies, which seem to really delight her, and a tweed jacket you haven’t fully worked up the courage to wear with some slacks yet, although they’re both there, and ready, and available.

‘this is so gay,’ she says fondly, meaning, you presume, your entire wardrobe, and it’s so, so stupid for you to feel panicked, because you are gay and you want, so badly, to love being gay, because you love ava, more than heaven and earth, and she came back for you. but still, you can’t erase so many years of hating a fundamental part of who you are; ava frowns and walks up to you slowly. ’bea.’

‘it’s fine.’

‘i’m sorry.’ she takes both of your hands in hers and runs her thumb along the back gently. ‘i don’t — this is all still kind of new to you, i guess.’

it’s gentle, and forgiving, and opens up so much space for you. you had wanted, so, so many times, to change into who you are, brimming under the surface, and you’d only started to feel brave enough when you’d seen her genuine smile at your new slacks in switzerland. you suppose, really, it’s not that much different now. ‘i, uh, i see a therapist.’

‘oh?’ she doesn’t back away, only squeezes your hands. ‘that’s awesome. do you like them?’

‘i do.’

she just stands and waits and you are thankful for her, again and again; you have missed her so, so much.

‘i started — because i was grieving,’ you say, quietly and in the direction of a row of sneakers on the floor. ‘i went because i was hurting, and i didn’t know what to do with it.’ you had started going because, one night, you had gotten roaringly drunk at a little bar in echo park and felt like you wanted to walk into fucking traffic on the 405 when a girl with ava’s lotion passed by you, but that’s a detail you can mention another time, or never.

‘i’m sorry, bea.’

‘no.’ you touch her face gently, rest your hand on her collarbone. ‘not your fault. but what i mean is that — i started going because i missed you, and i didn’t know who i was, really. i left the church, and i fell in love with you, and, like, how do i become who i really am as a lesbian ex-nun whose — uh, person, is, well, missing, for an undetermined amount of time.’

‘therapy does seem like a good start with that,’ she says sagely. ‘also, person?’

‘we hadn’t discussed what we were to each other, before the portal, so.’ you shrug. ‘i know you’re my partner. but you are also my person.’

‘love that,’ she says, and smiles, ‘and love you. and other than how incredible i am, what have you learned about yourself?’

you lead her to a drawer in your closet, and you open it and take out a chest binder, black and unassuming, one you haven’t worn yet but had bought one morning online, after you’d had a wonderful surf session and you had wondered, just enough, how it might feel. ‘i don’t know,’ you say. ‘i don’t — i’m figuring it out.’ ava is still and patient beside you; you have a holy war coming, one neither of you is sure to survive, and it all seems to matter a little less in the face of it. or, maybe, it matters more. ‘is that okay?’

‘fuck yeah,’ ava says. ‘you’re so hot, like, god, even hotter than i remember? what a fucking gift! and, yeah, i mean, you’re however you feel, regardless of me. i know i’m like really awesome, but i’m just a person. kind of. for these purposes, i’m just a girl. mostly.’ she laughs at herself. ‘anyway, try it on! if you want. i love you, and i want to see.’

for your entire life you’ll hold it in your heartspace: i love you, and i want to see. just like that, just like a commandment — true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy. ‘okay.’

‘sweet,’ ava says, ‘i’ll be waiting out here, whenever you’re ready.’

you step into the binder and pull it on like you’d watched a few tutorials of, and you don’t think it’s something you want all of the time, but your heart pounds and your palms sweat and then your entire body settles when you situate the straps on your shoulders and turn in the mirror, see your chest mostly flat. again, it’s like seeing yourself for the very first time: there you are.

you wipe a few tears from your cheeks and let out a big breath and then slip a t-shirt over your head, pad out to where ava is very obviously vibrating with excitement and not at all reading the book on her lap, opened to a random page.

she groans and leans back dramatically. ‘even hotter, wow.’

‘yeah?’

‘yes!’ she narrows her eyes. ‘but, from what i think your therapist is getting at: how does it make you feel? even if i wasn’t here to tell you how hot you are, which i always will be now, obviously. but even if i wasn’t, what are you feeling?’

unbound, you remember, unburdened. ‘happy,’ you say, and she stands and runs her hands up and down your sides, over your flat chest, and kisses you. ‘i feel so happy.’

/

ava is overjoyed when one of your friends in madrid invites you to a drag show. technically, you’re both supposed to be Very Seriously Working, because there really is an imminent number of battles looming over the horizon, but you rent a little flat a few blocks from headquarters and sometimes try your best to take ava on dates. obviously, she enjoys doing everything in her power to loudly woo you: she buys flowers from a vendor on the corner and dramatically gives them to you; she brings home books you might like, in all kinds of languages; she tells everyone at the ocs how your lesbian love was what was strong enough to bring her back from the other realm. it’s all a little ridiculous, but she always has been, and it’s intoxicating to be the sole focus of her joy sometimes.

ava whistles and you roll your eyes when you slip a warm oversized cream color wool sweater over your binder, careful not to mess up your meticulous bun, and let it sit loose and elegant over a pair of navy slacks and slip on a pair of brown loafers. ava is in a dress and a blazer and she’s done eyeliner and lipstick and she’s so, so fucking beautiful. you’d put a little mascara and chapstick on and a little thrill goes through you: ava wants to be on your arm tonight; she wants to sit next to you and whisper joyously in your ear and kiss you and come home with you — ava looks like that and ava is yours.

there are three queens performing that night, two songs each, ava informs you, when you meet up with your friends. it’s loud and bright and one of the queens — ava’s favorite, if her screaming next to you has any indication — does ‘pure/honey’ from renaissance, which, in ava’s words, brings the house down.

‘gender fuckery is heaven, baby,’ the queen says after, to absolutely raucous cheers from the crowd. ava looks at you with a raised brow but her grin is so big you can’t do anything but kiss her: the swell in your chest is good, you decide, like a perfect set by the pier just after sunrise, wave after wave breaking in a way your body knows exactly what to do with, exactly how to ride safely into shore. you wipe a few tears but you let ava drag you to your feet and you sing along, on your own accord, when they play whitney houston.

/

‘what’s one thing — especially something that you’ve maybe felt scared of, or that you’re not sure you’ll like — that you associate with queerness that you’ve always wanted to try?’

and, like, therapy is hard, okay? it’s hard when ava is so overjoyed and so fearless about her own sexuality, and about loving you without any hesitation; of course, you both have trauma, but ava has never, in her entire life, tried to deny herself want or pleasure or expression.

and it’s hard because, god, there are so many things on that list. some of them you’ve done: buying men’s pants (that fit you like a dream, thank you very much); dancing with ava and finally kissing her after a few shots; going to a lesbian bar; going to a drag show. you want to get more tattoos — some that mean important things, and maybe some that don’t, that you just like — and you want to smoke weed the way ava does with your friends sometimes, laughing slow and soft and curling up in your lap. you want to kiss ava in front of a van gogh without checking around you first; you want to pull her chair out at dinner; you want to laugh when your friends say that’s gay — with lots of love — after one of them says something sweet about their partner. you want ava to steal your clothes. you want to go to pride. you want, very badly, to find a church that doesn’t make you feel like dying.

‘it doesn’t have to be serious,’ your therapist says, coaxing you along just a little. ‘it doesn’t have to be huge or life-changing. just something you might try, whatever comes to mind.’

‘a haircut.’ it sort of comes out of your mouth without permission, but maybe that was the point; you’re still figuring out want and desire and giving in to them without anxiety.

your therapist smiles, and it feels good, warm, to know that you’ve told the truth, that she seems to understand. ‘why does that scare you?’

you look down at your hands and will yourself not to fidget; your therapist notices and hands you a stim toy, admittedly your favorite one.

‘well, first, what if i hate it?’

‘haircuts are, fortunately, relatively temporary. what would you do if you did hate it?’

‘grow it out again, i guess.’ you think of ava’s collection of hats and beanies. ‘a cap, maybe?’

‘logical. what else scares you?’

‘what if ava hates it?’

‘well, from everything i know of ava, i doubt she would hate anything you decide could bring you joy. and she seems very into you.’

it gets you to smile: ava makes that known often, and to everyone she wants, it’s true.

‘when ava tries something, like a haircut or color, or a more masculine or feminine outfit, how do you feel?’

‘i love her, obviously. in any form; she’s beautiful and she’s my partner.’

your therapist smiles. ‘exactly. and, beyond that, i know we’ve been talking about this, but your sexuality and your relationship to it, and your joy in it, lies far outside of your partner. you were a lesbian before you met ava, and you will be, no matter what your relationship with her is, unless you decide you feel something different. your queerness and place in it isn’t just about sex, or your partner. it’s about who you are, fundamentally, and how you want to be seen for it.’

you nod, take a deep breath. ‘yes. i guess, well, when i was younger, 12 or 13, maybe, i wanted to cut my hair short. i was in so many martial arts and archery classes; i ran and swam all the time, so it seemed easier. it also seemed … cool? like, i thought it might feel… that it might feel good, or right. i didn’t know why.’

‘why didn’t you cut your hair then?’

‘my mother, when i asked, she said that it would make people think i’m … that i’m a dyke.’ you pause, let the hurt well up in you and breathe it out. ‘she used that word, and it scared me.’

‘what does that word make you feel now?’

‘i… i love it? it still feels a little scary, maybe, but — i already know people look at me and don’t think i’m straight, even when i’m not with ava. that used to be terrifying, because what if someone was unkind or even dangerous? but that … it hasn’t happened, and, if it did, i could handle it. i know i could.’

‘so what would a haircut change, then?’

‘if i — ‘ you imagine it, then, you let yourself: how the collar of your favorite turtleneck sweater might look, how easy it would be to take care of after surfing, how you could put on mascara and linen and your favorite sunglasses and hold ava’s hand, just like always. ‘people would see me and know i’m a lesbian, i think. it’s… a choice, for me at least, to look queer. and a haircut is one i can’t immediately change, like clothes. and we’re going to see my old friends soon, and i don’t know what they’d think, and — ‘

‘your friends have been accepting of you, and of ava, and of you and ava together, right?’

‘yes, of course. but it would just be — i couldn’t hide. everyone would know; everyone would be able to see, all the time. ava isn’t read as queer all the time; i can pass as straight. but if i couldn’t — ‘

when you don’t continue, your therapist gently says, ‘you would be seen. which is scary, and i hear what you’re saying, absolutely. but, beatrice, you would be seen for who you are, without apology.’

‘that’s true.’

‘i have one more question.’

‘okay.’

‘what would happen if you loved it?’

/

‘how are you doing?’ your stylist, xavi — one of your favorite people on the planet, one of your best friends who has been offering to give you a haircut you actually want for two years now — calmly combs out your long hair after she’d washed it.

‘i think i might throw up.’

it makes her laugh, which is maybe a little mean but also why you’re so fond of her; she had been one of the students in your adult beginners aikido class and, while she hadn’t shown any talent or much interest, she had made you smile all the time and invited you and ava to dinner with her and her wife as soon as she found out you mentioned ava, and you had been friends ever since. most days, you just put your hair into a neat bun. ava likes to play with it down, especially when you’re sleeping in, but when you told her you wanted to cut it she had kissed you square on the mouth. ‘i love you, and i want to see,’ she’d told you again, and played with the engagement ring around your finger. ’even if it looks terrible — which isn’t possible, because it’s you — there’s no way i’m ever asking you to take this off. ever, ever, ever, bea. okay?’

xavi pats your shoulder; she had excitedly fit you in this morning after you’d texted her after therapy yesterday with pictures of a short, neat mid-fade to the skin, sitting in your car before you even drove home, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you didn’t. ‘we can just do a trim, or start with a little off, and you can decide how you’re feeling from there.’

it’s so patient and so kind. ‘no, no. i — i’m sure. i’m just scared.’ it’s ridiculous, really, you think: you’ve been shot and stabbed and blown up multiple times; you have killed more people than you can count; you have almost died, so, so many times. but this, this is living, true to who you are. ‘i — this is what i want. i know this is what i want.’

‘okay then,’ xavi says, and collects your hair, smooth and long, into a ponytail at the base of your skull. ‘ready?’

‘as i’ll ever be.’

it’s fast and unceremonious, just a few sips as you close your eyes, but then you feel hair tickle your cheeks and you open your eyes and xavi hands you your long ponytail with a grin.

‘oh my god.’

‘okay,’ she says, ‘we can stop here? i can definitely make this work.’

‘no, no,’ you say, ‘it’s good.’ you laugh. ‘i feel good.’

‘you want to keep going?’

‘yeah,’ you say, let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, settled in a way, already, that you never have been before in your entire life. ‘let’s do it.’

‘amazing,’ xavi says. ‘this is going to look so good.’

and, really, it does: xavi turns the clippers on and you let go of the swoop in your stomach, your clammy palms, the too-fast thud of your heart, and just let yourself become. xavi explains what she’s doing each step, and she talks about the kittens she’s fostering, and asks you about your new aikido class, and it’s easy.

she finishes; she places a hot towel on your neck and makes sure your hairline is clean in the back and then shows you how to put a little pomade in the top, an inch and a half long, textured and dark. she takes the cape off and you stand, look at yourself in the mirror: your favorite crewneck, and a pair of pants ava had surprised you with from artists and fleas, the thin chain with a tiny cross you don’t take off sitting just below your collarbone. ‘i love it, xavi,’ you say, your hands are shaking but when you bring them up to your hair there’s a clarity in your chest that’s never been there before: unbound, unburdened, you remember, and also: i felt finally myself.

/

you’re in and out of it after surgery; you know your injuries as ava told you and then the surgeon explained more completely. mostly, you’re just relieved you’re alive, because the moment before you hit the wall you were sure you weren’t going to be. you’d asked mary a few hours ago, while ava was in the bathroom, to convince ava to take a walk and then eat an actual meal, not just pick at food while she sits by your bedside. it works: mary bullies ava into it, but sometimes, even now, that’s just what you have to do.

you fall asleep again; you’ve been walking more the past day, up and around with a walker a few times a day. between that and the pain medicine you’re still on, and the residuals from anesthesia, it’s impossible to not nap fairly often. when you wake up, lilith is kicked back in the chair by one side of your bed, her feet, boots still on, resting by your side on the blanket. mother superion sits next to her, doing a crossword in the daily paper. the sight makes you laugh a little, and you’re pleased that you’re a little less sore.

they both notice you’re awake; mother superion puts down her crossword but lilith doesn’t move an inch. you’re thankful your surgeon had let you sit on the shower seat and let ava wash your hair earlier this morning, careful to not press hard against the bruise on the back of your skull or get any water on your incisions — you feel slightly less gross and definitely more awake than you had before.

she looks at you and you feel anxious, all of a sudden: lilith appraises you, and then slouches even further into your seat. ‘gay,’ she decides on, and then, ‘aerodynamic.’

you look to mother superion for a moment, whose mouth twitches in a smile. ‘we didn’t have much chance to talk before the battle,’ she says, ‘but what lilith means is that your hair suits you.’

your brain is still sluggish, but — ’because i’m… gay and aerodynamic?’

lilith, miraculously, laughs. ‘well, sure, but it looks good.’ she shrugs. ‘you look like yourself.’

mother superion nods. ‘it’s good to see you becoming who you are.’

you’re definitely still loopy, overly emotional, but you might tear up from that even if you weren’t. still, lilith rolls her eyes. ‘oh, come on, beatrice.’

‘sorry,’ you sniffle, then rub your eyes.

you hear ava’s, ‘you made her cry? i was only gone for like, half an hour? what the fuck?’

‘i said something nice,’ lilith defends, getting to her feet.

‘sure you did,’ ava says. ‘i can still take you in a fight. i’ll do it, swear to god.’

‘you definitely cannot take me in a fight, ava.’

ava stands, indignant, although it’s made less effective by the comfortable hoodie a little crooked on her shoulders and mary’s a whole head taller than her. the halo flares a little but quiets when you reach out a hand in her direction.

‘oh, for fuck’s sake,’ lilith says, and then in a flash she’s gone. mother superion squeezes your hand before she heads out with a nod and another soft smile, and mary follows.

ava sits on the side of your bed. ‘was lilith an asshole? i swear if she made you feel bad about anything i will kill her.’

‘she was actually, in her own way, kind. and mother superion was too. i’m just more emotional than usual because of the meds.’

‘you’re sure?’

you tug ava down a little and she messes with your hair with a soft smile, then kisses your forehead. ‘very chivalrous of you, to offer to defend my honor, though.’

she laughs. ‘i don’t want to fight lilith again, ever, in any realm, in any way.’ she presses her mouth to yours. ‘but, for you, bea, i would do anything.’

/

‘you look — ‘ you let your brother fumble over his words for a moment and then laugh, spare him any more worry.

‘hot is fine.’

he rolls his eyes. ‘you look incredible, bea.’ the suit lena had made you — navy, and light, a slim tuxedo pant, a single button jacket and a perfect, crisp white t-shirt tucked in neatly, sitting beneath — fits exactly how you want it. your hair has grown out, and it parts in the middle now, and flops — as ava loves to say — just above your eyes; the sides and back are still buzzed short, and it makes you smile, even now — your ‘prince charming era’ according to ava. xavi had done your makeup: tinted moisturizer and a little bit of mascara.

‘i do look incredible, huh?’

he smiles. ‘yeah. you really do.’ he lint rolls your shoulders for the final time, more out of nerves than there having ever been lint in the first place. ‘well, let’s do this then. let’s go get you married.’

he walks you down the aisle and then you wait in front of the altar you had made, barefoot on the beach, and when ava rounds the corner and then smiles at you, you know you’ve given her a gift too: i want to see. i love you, and i want to see.

/

‘thank god i married you,’ ava says, tracing a line down your spine and then along the linework tattoo on your ribcage.

‘mmmm,’ you say, ‘i agree. but why, specifically.’

she bends down to laugh into your shoulder before kissing down your spine. ‘it’s fucking insane that you get hotter like, literally every day.’

you laugh too. ‘thank you, my wife.’

she squeezes your hips. ‘wow. my wife.’

you turn over beneath her and pull her down slowly to kiss you. the snow is falling outside but the fireplace at your room in a resort in the alps is beautiful, and everything is warm. you feel the halo hum beneath her hands and it’s easy, it’s so easy, to let ava roll her hips against yours and press you down into the mattress; it’s easy to put on boxers — black calvins, tight against your thighs — after you shower and stand in the mirror. your hands are calm, and it’s so easy, when you really look, to see who you are in your body. to belong only to yourself: there you are.

[nerd-chocolate]

My Vesperia redesign and a bit rewrite of a queen banana:

I want to thank everyone that participated in the poll for this and the upcoming Kitty Noire redesign post I’ll be doing next. Just wanted to say this post is for pure fun and not for malicious intent just like my sole crusher redesign and sorry that wasn’t clear enough. Anyway on to this post.

My opinion about her original design:

Honestly, I like Vesperia’s design, it looks pretty great. And look, I know it has its drawbacks and may not be the best design but it is far from the worst design in the whole show. That goes to Aspik, Snake Noir, and Hawkmoth/Shadow moth/Monarch, huh like father like son. Okay back to the discussion beforehand, yeah Vesperia looks more like a wasp than a bee but I don’t find any issues with it since some of the heroes also don’t like their respective animals as well and some people weren’t complaining about them, to be honest. Also if I did have a problem with it then this post probably wouldn’t exist. Honestly, the things I don’t like about her design are her camouflage mode design, her hair, and the slider (what the wiki calls it) on her chest. Her camo mode hair comb is just a bee design but with her usual colors for her clothes, which doesn’t look that pleasing to me. Her braid isn’t just working for me and I’m kinda confused about how it looks when it is unbraid compared to Queen Bee's hair where that hairstyle makes sense. And why the slider on her chest, it feels very out of place, to be honest, and it doesn’t need to be there at all. So yeah this design is pretty solid in my book. I like the design even though there are problems with it that people have that are genuine criticisms of it.

So let's redesign Vesperia and see if the design could work for her as much as her original design.

Her Redesign:

Okay, so I ended up changing the design a lot more than expected so here we go. The things I’m keeping are her boots, her mask, her stripes, and her antennas since I like them and would fit here. First I would give her a short half-down and half-up hairstyle so the hair comb with the antennas can stay in place while her bangs and bottom layer are black hair color and then her mask being the same as before. Then I would give her a sleeveless swan-necked black shirt with warm yellow stripes and the collar is warm yellow as well. She has black fingerless biker gloves with spikes on them and warm yellow shorts with suspenders hanging down and chains belts which is where the spinning top is. She has bee wings as well because it would work for her. Lastly, having black ripped tights and boots from her original design. And as for the disguise mode for the miraculous, I would have two pink bougainvillea flowers one on the right and one on the left and they each have a skull head in the middle while having gold leaves and thorns as well for the rest of the hair comb. Here are some pictures for reference:

And yes, I know she isn’t a ginger but that stops me from pushing my Ginger Zoé agenda!!

Some notes and quotes:

Okay I know this is the part where I do a personality rewrite but honestly, it is the same as her canon self so let’s move on.

Before I do the quotes, here are some things that I would like to mention:

She can be very snarky whenever Chloé gets akumatized.

She is very close friends with Rooster Bold and Purple Tigress. And may or not ask them for love advice sometimes.

I think during Queen Banana, Zoé had a bag of honey chocolate chip cookies and gave Pollen to recharge, and ever since Pollen loved them.

She may not know Pollen that long but she and Pollen have a nice bond where Zoé was mostly scared of her at first but ends up thinking Pollen is one of the sweetest things in the world. While Pollen would help Zoé with her self-confidence and always be happy to see her (and lowkey shipping her with her crush).

And her antennas can emote as some anime ahoges can even without her noticing it.

Now here are some quotes for you guys to enjoy (and sorry these are a bit weaker than usual) also I'm did use @artzychic27 ocs in this I’m tagging them for that reason:

Reshma when Queen Banana appears: … I swear to god, the more she gets akumatized the more she looks tacky in each one.

Jean: Yep and the fact she got a gaudy car and gorilla as well is stupid.

Ismael: I’m starting to think ShadowMoth is getting worse in Akuma design as we speak that is even low for him since some of the early Akuma designs weren’t even that good.

Reshma: Yep, he is even worse than Gabriel fucking Agreste is.

Meanwhile

ShadowMoth: *crying* I’m not a bad designer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette: Okay, I think we’re safe here from that loony banana for now. *turn to face Zoé* Right now, we need to *sees that she upsets* Zoé?… What's wrong?

Zoé hugging her knees: …

Cosette: *sits next to her* You can tell me if you want, I just want to know if you’re okay.

Zoé: … It's my fault.

Cosette: Huh?

Zoé: It's my fault that she’s acting like this and terrorizing everyone! If I wasn’t in the movie, she wouldn’t be ruining it and got akumatized. She was probably right to want to send me back to New York. *starts tearing up* I’ll just keep messing up things for everyone else just like I did back in New York.

Cosette: Zoé, none of this is your fault.

Zoé: What?

Cosette: *gently holds her hand while blushing* You didn’t do anything wrong in this situation and Chloé is just trying to pin blame on someone else so she wouldn’t have to admit that it was her fault in the first place. There were many times when she got akumatized because she didn’t get what she wanted those were way before you came here. Even if you mess up, like I said, I and many others are going to be here to help you, no matter what. Overall, you did nothing wrong in this situation and I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it, okay?

Zoé: *blushing* … Okay, I believe you.

Cosette: *hugs her* Good.

Zoé: *hugs them back and then let's go when she hears chaos coming from outside* But, I need to face her alone. She’s my sister and I can’t sit by and let her hurt others because of me. So I want you to stay here so you can be safe because knowing that you aren’t hurt, makes me happy, Cosette.

Cosette: Okay, just be safe out there.

Zoé: I will. *hugs it real tight before leaving* I’ll be back!

Cosette: *blushes while smiling* Okay! ‘That’s my girl.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ladybug summons a motorcycle: … What the?!

Zoé: Hmm, if you don’t mind can I drive it?

Ladybug: Oh…Okay?

Zoé: Great! *puts on her helmet and gets on it* Hang on!

Ladybug: *holds on to her* Wha- *gets freaked by the fast driving* AHHHHHHH!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An alternative way to defeat Queen Banana (sorry this is too corny for you):

Queen Banana holding Ladybug while her banana gun is against her head: Give me your miraculous, or else I’ll turn her int- *gets pulled into the ground by a yellow string and drops her banana gun* What the?! Who dares to stop me?!?

Vesperia: I did, banana brain.

Queen Banana: Who are you supposed to be, my pathetic clone?! Because there is only one Queen Bee and that is me!!!

Vesperia: .. You're right, you are the only queen bee around here. You know the one who almost caused a train to crash for her selfish reasons, the one who decided to work with Shadowmoth because she didn’t get what she wanted, and put every other hero in danger by revealing their secret identity to him not realizing the consequences of what will happen next. No one wants to be Queen Bee because she is nothing but a pathetic person that expects things to go her way all the damn time. You are queen bee since no one wants to be anything like you, especially me. *grins a sly smile* I’m Vesperia by the way! *wields her spinning top back into her hand* VENOM! *stings Queen Banana and takes her hair clip* Here you go! *throws it to ladybug, who catches it*

Ladybug/Chat Noir: 😧

Chat Noir: … That was unexpected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vesperia while princess carrying Cosette: Are you okay, Co- I mean civilian?

Cosette: *blushing like crazy* Um-uh..um YEAH! Thank you for saving me!!

Vesperia: *also blushing while her antennas emote a heart shape* You're welcome! Let’s get you to safety, don’t want someone as cute as you to get hurt. *starts to fly up to the skies*

Cosette: ….*makes confused bisexual noises*

After a few minutes of searching for a safe place

Cosette: *blushing* Thank you for saving me Vesperia, you’re a very pretty- I mean pretty cool hero!

Vesperia: *blushing* Of course! I’m always here if you ever need saving umm…

Cosette: Cosette.

Vesperia: Right! You have such a lovely name.

Cosette: Thanks. *smiles softly and awkwardly*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pollen looking at a picture of the science kids: My Queen, who are these people?

Zoé: Oh, those are my friends. We took that photo a couple days after I first got here.

Pollen: Oh so they’re like your court?

Zoé: Well I’m not sure if that's the right way to use it like that.

Pollen: … *points to Cosette* So would that mean this girl you were talking to isn’t queen by your side then.

Zoé: … *blushes like a ripped tomato* NO! Not like that!! I mean I do appreciate Cosette as a friend of mine!!! It’s not that I have a crush on it exactly!!

Pollen who saw the whole conversation when she saved them: Uhhh right, my queen. ‘It seems like my queen may be having trouble expressing her emotions… a lot.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marc: Oh hey Zoé!

Zoé: Hey Marc, hey Nathaniel! What are you guys doing?

Marc: We’re heading to movies and the fact I finally got him to take a break from drawing all that adrienette cringe.

Nathaniel: I still think we could have stayed at home to watch some movies.

Marc: But it's lovely out here, especially the weather! Anyway, what are you doing?

Zoé: Oh I was just smelling some flowers, no biggie!

Nathaniel: Really, your cover in flowers and pollen.

Zoé: I was checking if flowers were okay and might I say, they are looking and smell lovely.

Marc: Oh okay. Well you want to come with us to the movies?

Zoé: Oh no thanks, I don’t be the third wheel on your date and don’t want to make things awkward when you two decide to make out in the movie theater. *she’s wink while MarcNath blushes*

Nathaniel: We better get going, bye Zoé.

Marc: See you at school, Zoé!

Zoé: See ya! *waves MarcNath goodbye as they walking* Well, time to go back to smell these lovely flowers!

Hope everyone has a good day and enjoy this post!

[hecatemoon87]

The Vampire of Camden Town - Alfie Solomons PART II

Part I

For more Vampire Tom Hardy Character Reading -- Vampire Master List

song inspo below for those interested.

Warnings: Sex & Blood

Words: 2515

“I said, I want to drink your blood,” Alfie repeated, because Beatrix was staring at him blankly as if she had not understood what he was asking. Then the message registered and her eyes widened. 

“Oh, hell no! You’re crazy!” she said, attempting to stand up, but he grabbed her wrist and firmly returned her to the sofa.

“Yeah, I’ve been told that, pet. Now look, I’m not really giving you a choice here,” he said, staring intensely at her. 

“My mother warned me about vampires,” she said, groaning, talking mostly to herself. Then she turned towards him and quickly added, “You know, whatever you’ve heard about witch blood, it’s all bullshit.”

Alfie smiled, amused by her obvious lie. “Nah, it ain’t. You see, I can fucking smell it, your blood. It smells like spiced wine and I want a nibble,” he said, lacing an arm behind her back, drawing her tight against him. 

He nuzzled his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent. Closing his eyes, he worked out each of the fragrances emanating from her warm little body. He smelled juniper berries in her hair and a subtle scent of eucalyptus oil from her skin. Lifting a hand, he tucked it in front of her hair, moving it back over her shoulder, revealing her slender neck. A gravelly growl rumbled from his chest as his eyes traced the outline of her neck down to the cleavage between her bosoms. 

As he extended his fangs, he brought her close to his mouth. She seemed frozen, suspended by fear, completely malleable in his arms. He skimmed his lips over her smooth skin, his fangs scrapping lightly against flesh. The sound of the blood pumping through her veins enthralled him, pushing him forward, eager to partake in her lifeblood.

And then he bit down. It was a gentle bite, careful and controlled. But when the blood gushed forth into his hungry mouth he groaned and clamped down harder. His embrace of her tightened, his eyes rolled back into his head and he closed them. Her blood was sweet. A deep red merlot, spiced with wild orange, cinnamon and cloves, heated to perfection. His cock began to stiffen. He pressed his meat against her thigh and slowly moved his hips, grinding himself against her.

Meanwhile, Beatrix was gripping Alfie’s suit vest in her fists. She had been expecting excruciating pain, but instead it had simply felt like pin pricks entering her neck. She could feel her blood being pulled through into his mouth. She could feel his wet, warm tongue swirling over her neck as he drank deeply. And she could feel his rock hard erection grinding against her hip. From between her legs, a dull ache reserved only for the most secret and intimate fantasies arised. Her nipples tingled and slowly hardened as he drank. She relaxed now, letting her head fall back and releasing a sensual moan from her lips. It washed over Alfie’s ears, providing him with vindication. As quickly as he had started, he soon released his fangs from their hold. 

Holding her in his arms he gently skimmed the tip of his nose across hers. 

“How you feeling, Trixy?” he whispered, deciding that he very much liked her nickname.

She opened her eyes slowly, her green eyes hooded as if she were intoxicated. 

“Is it over? You aren’t going to ravish me or anything?” she asked, softly. 

“Nah, I ain’t gonna rape you, pet,” he said, almost with disgust. 

“Why not?” she asked, her tone sounding disappointed. 

A smile broke over his lips, he knew she was made of fire. 

“Not tonight, not this time,” he said, releasing her from his arms and standing up.

It was her turn to pull him back to the sofa. Once he was seated, she crawled on top of him and straddled him. He chuckled and rested his hands on her outer thighs, grateful for how short her skirt was. She nestled herself in his lap, looking down at him intently. 

“Where were you going? Do you have more women to kidnap, bite and then disappoint?” she said, stroking his chest. 

“Luv, you handled my fangs just fine, but my cock? You might have a tougher time with the penetration,” he said, slowly petting her thighs as he spoke. 

“Just what are you inferring? I’m not a virgin,” she said. 

“Yeah, not a virgin, but not experienced either. Let me guess, one boy and only a couple of times? That sweet cunny of yours will be just as tight as if you never had a cock in there before,” he said. 

She leaned close to him, her lips hovering over his, “Then why don’t you open me up, daddy?”

Alfie almost groaned out loud. His cock had been partially stiff after releasing her from his bite, but he hardened right up as she said that. She could feel him tent out his suit trousers, his erection pressing against her panty covered cunt. With the speed of a jackal, he stood up from the sofa, holding her by the thighs, crushing his lips upon her own. She locked her thighs around his hips and returned his kiss with vigor. 

“Alright, you asked for it, Trixy. But when I split you over me cock and you beg for me to stop, I ain’t gonna,” he growled. 

“Is that a promise?” she teased. 

Alfie smirked and carried her over to the gas fireplace in his living room. In front of it was a dark navy and white plush persian rug. He lowered her down upon it and she rested on her knees, looking back up at him expectantly. He began removing his cufflinks and then his shirt, revealing his well chiseled body. As he did this, he never broke eye contact with her. He was hungry for another taste of her blood and craved to feel her tight little cunny expand around his cock. Eager to feel how much resistance her flower would offer.

Beatrix watched him with anticipation. She was curious what an experienced vampire such as Alfie had to offer in the domain of sexual pleasure. He had been wrong in saying that she had only been with one boy. She had been with two, but both had been just that, boys. And Alfie was a man, well, a vampire man. Her eyes watched as he removed his belt, folding the leather in half. He extended it and tilted her chin up with it after folding it.

“Take the bodice off. Leave your fucking slutty skirt on and the fishnets,” he instructed. 

She gazed up at him, seductively removing the lace from the front of her bodice. She let the garment drop to the floor, revealing her ample breasts and pert nipples. Alfie’s eyes drank in her voluptuous frame and caramelized skin. He squatted down and wrapped the leather belt about her slender wrists. Then he pulled her up from the floor and led her by the belt to the fireplace.

There was a finely polished oak mantle mounted above the hearth, a hook protruded from the wood in which he secured the belt buckle. The fire, being controlled by gas, was on low, providing a pleasant warmth over Beatrix’s skin. Alfie stepped back, admiring the soft glow of the fire light illuminating her naked breasts. Beatrix arched her back, presenting her bottom to him. A lioness, eager for her king to lay claim over her. 

Alfie moved forward, placing his large hands just below her breasts, smoothing them downwards. His hands slipped underneath her skirt. The cloth barely covered her ass and the fishnet stockings were only thigh high, the only thing dividing her cunt from his cock were his trousers and her flimsy panties. He flipped her skirt up and gave her right ass cheek a firm crack with his open palm. Beatrix moaned, spreading her legs wider, begging him without words to take her.

She felt him crouch down behind her and then felt the heat of his breath against her panty covered pussy. Beatrix felt her cunt contract and her clit tingle. He gave her cunny a little kiss, the soft hairs from his beard sinfully tickling her inner thighs.

“Don’t tease me. I’m sorry I was a bad girl, but don’t tease,” she whispered. 

“Yeah, you were a very bad girl. And bad girls get punished,” he said, yanking down her panties and brutally forcing his tongue into her quivering cunt. 

Beatrix’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She moaned loudly, overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensation of his tongue burrowing into her little hole. He ate her vigorously, the pressure of his face forcing her upwards and onto her tippy toes. She wobbled precariously on the tips of her stilettos as he devoured her cunt. Her hands grabbed at the slack of the belt, holding it tightly to prevent her from swaying. 

“Mr. Solomons, I…oh!” she moaned.

He was solely focusing on her opening, he wasn’t going to pay any mind to her bratty little clit. Her punishment was just starting and she’d not cum until he damn well wanted her to. He ate until she was gushing all over his lips, then he settled her back on her feet and patted her ass. 

“Good lass, now tell me what a little slut you are, yeah? Tell ol’ Alfie Solomons how you want your slutty little cunt stuffed,” he said, unzipping his pants, releasing his erection. 

He rubbed the tip of his cock over her dripping cunt, but did not enter.

“I’m a slut! I’m a naughty little slut and I need my pussy fucked, daddy,” she whimpered. 

“You left out the bit where you call me Mr. Solomons,” he said, smirking as he brought her hips back, letting his cock slide through her honey covered folds, his length gliding over her clit. 

“Mr. Solomons, please!” she cried, starting to babble like a woman gone mad. 

He chuckled and decided he had teased the poor girl enough. He centered his cock back to her opening and plunged into her core. Although she was sopping wet, he was very big and the abrupt entry caused Beatrix to lose her breath. He charged through her hole, splitting it open causing a maddening sensation of both pain and pleasure. 

“You’re so big,” she gasped, her legs trembling. 

“I tried to tell you, luv. But you’ll mold around me in a bit, just relax,” he said, beginning to thrust. 

He once again forced her up on her tippy toes, plowing her little cunt. She gripped the belt hard, trying to both balance herself and using it to squeeze through the pain. But Alfie was right, her pussy began to slowly give way and the biting sensation she had felt was gone. Now, the only thing she could feel was blissful stimulation. Relaxing, she spread her legs further open. 

“Harder,” she sighed. 

“Atta girl,” Alfie said, closing his eyes and bringing his cock home. 

He thrusted upwards, splitting her open again and again, pulling out the most sinful little sounds a naughty little slut could make for her vampire lord. His cock flexed and he was hungry for his climax. His focus right now was to achieve his own orgasm. Her’s would come soon enough. He tilted his head back and allowed the wave of pleasure to wash over him. Burrowing his cock deep into her, he coating her walls with his seed. 

After he removed himself, he tucked his cock back into his trousers and walked over to the mantle. He removed the buckle from the hook. As he did, Beatrix sank down to her knees onto the rug. Her long black hair covered her face as she breathed hard. She held herself up by her hands, the soft fabric of the rug poking through her fingers as she chased after her breath. When she got her bearings she flipped her hair over her shoulders and watched him walk back over to the sofa and sit down.

“What about me?” she asked, sounding terribly bratty. 

“I’m sorry? What about you?” Alfie asked, giving her a contemplative frown. 

“What about my orgasm?” she huffed.

Alfie smiled to himself. She looked absolutely sexy as hell sitting on the rug. She was still perched on her knees, her heavy breasts exposed to him and her luscious black hair cascading around her shoulders. 

“Nah, little brats don’t get their cummies now do they?” he said. 

Beatrix crawled over to him, placing her hands upon his strong thighs. 

“Please, I’ll be good, daddy,” she said, wiggling her tits. 

He hooked a finger under her chin and looked her dead in the eyes. 

“No,” he said, firmly. 

“Alfie!” she whined, resting her head on his lap. 

“If you want it, you can use me thigh,” he said, patting his muscular thigh. 

Beatrix didn’t need to be offered a second time. She immediately got up and draped her legs over his thigh. As she straddled his leg, she slowly began grinding herself against him. Her cunt was sopping wet, coating his suit leg with her honey. The cloth of his trousers offered some friction against her clit, but she wasn’t able to reach her climax. He gazed up at her, smiling as her face broke out into a frustrated little frown. 

“I can’t,” she whined. 

“Now, don’t be a spoiled little miss. I gave your cunny a right pounding, I did. But since I am in a generous mood, I’ll lend you my help, yeah?”

“Okay,” she said, excitedly moving off his leg. 

“No, no. Luv, it ain’t that simple, is it now?” he said, grinning.

“What?” she asked, confused. 

“I’ll assist you, if you let me have another go with your blood,” he said. 

“Fine, whatever. Do it, daddy,” she purred. 

He nodded, pleased she could be trained so quickly. Not waiting another moment, Alfie pushed her onto the sofa. He plunged his fangs into her neck as he ran her fingers over her clit. She withered beneath him, mewling and moaning. He soon felt her little clit gush forth its nectar, coating his fingers as her blood coated his throat. 

Afterwards, Alfie had her go to his room and take a shower. He found her a comfortable bathrobe and laid it on the bed for her when she came out. He himself changed into something more comfortable and walked back out to the living room. He scrolled through his phone, checking the status of his stocks as he waited for her.  A while later, she emerged from his room and climbed on the sofa next to him. He rested his head on the sofa and looked over at her. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

“You know, you could have just asked me out for a cup of coffee or something…” she said, resting her arm on the sofa and gazing into his eyes. 

“Yeah, but what sort of fun would that have been?” he replied. 

Beatrix thought about it and nodded, “No fun at all.” 

“That’s my girl,” Alfie said, smiling. 

[agentplutonium]

WIP Wednesday

I haven't done one of these in forever, and once again haven't been tagged. Either way you guys get the littlest update on what I am working on so that I am held responsible for what I do. ANYWAY

(if ya'll wanna do something too you should tag me! I love seeing people's works :D)

This week I wanna show y'all two snippets, one from my OC work and one from a fandom I rarely talk about on here. I'll start with the fanfic stuff first (all is gonna be under the cut because I think it looks cooler that way)

So, here I present a part of my Cher & Sherlock character study. These guys are from NeXus (created by the one and only @mr-laveau which can be found on their youtube channel). This mostly is just me seeing how my Characterizations of these two listener characters play out with one another. That and I have been itching to write something NeXus related since the second video on the channel. Anyway:

The clock ticked on the wall. There was the occasional shout from outside the apartment. Cher sat at the table, shoulders rigid, fingers tapping the wood beneath them impatiently. The wood was smooth under their arm, the back of the chair digging into their shoulder blades. They wanted to keep moving. They wanted out of here. They wanted to keep everyone safe. Cher was dropped off at Alonzo’s and his partner’s place to be babysat, despite what Uriah told them. He said it was for their safety but they felt Uriah didn’t trust them, or that he thought they couldn’t take care of themselves. It was humiliating. Not to mention this was probably putting the lovers out of their way just to be there with them. They did not want to do that to them. They were not worth the amount of effort the two vampires were putting into them.  Suddenly, a mug was placed before them, snapping out of their thoughts. Owl, what Cher has taken to calling Alonzo’s partner, took the seat across from them, a matching mug in their hands. They were silent, not looking at Cher. Their presence wasn’t… unwanted, but Cher still felt on edge. Their fingers stopped tapping. They couldn’t help but analyze the situation, Owl’s body language, the way they kept their eyes on the mug in their hands, the mug that was left suspended between the two of them. But Owl just fucking sat there. The silence lasted for a few more moments. “It’s just hot chocolate, I’m not trying to kill you,” Owl said, those eyes finally glancing at them. “Thought you might like something to do than just sitting here.”

(You will probably be able to find this fic soon on my AO3 :D)

And now my favourite part of this: the part where I get to show off my OCS. If you haven't seen anything before these two are my god characters. They are the sole reason why in my world anything exists. They are literally my heart and soul you guys i don't know if you understand. ANYWAY, snippet of the creation of the Strix:

Terra had been messing around with different designs for a bit, shaping and reshaping the clay in her hands in an almost bored manner. None of the designs were sticking out to her, and weren’t exactly how she was picturing things. Normally, this wasn’t such a problem. She was usually able to perfectly recreate what she was thinking. However, each time she did just that she found that the design was impractical, or didn’t look the way she imagined it would. In all honesty it was starting to irk her quite a bit.

She was about to give up on the design, but tried one more time. This one was also imperfect, but… Terra thought it had potential. It was a small, winged creature that Terra was going for, but there were a few things that she fixed or added. One of them was a short, curved, needle sharp beak. The other was sharper talons as well. After messing with the colours for a bit, making them a clash of green’s and blue’s, Terra brought the prototype to life. It slowly became mobile, turning it’s head from side to side, watching Terra curiously. Terra held out a finger to it, and it readily hopped over onto it, turning back to Terra and giving a small chirp.

Terra grinned, mouth stretching wide as she watched her creation. “Well, hello, little one,” Terra said gently. “You’re not as big as some of your cousins, but I think you look absolutely adorable.”

The creature chirped in response.

Terra only smiled wider, nose scrunching in the process. “Well then, what shall we name you and your siblings? Hm? Any ideas?”

The creature didn’t respond, only tilting it’s head in the other direction. Terra pursed her lips as she thought.

“What about… finches? No, that’s a bit to human sounding. We need something different.” Terra hummed, reaching up to gently stroke her fingers over the creature’s feathers. She had gotten an idea, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, what about Strix? That’s a fun sounding name. What do you think?” The creature chirped again, and Terra smiled. “I’m so glad. We’ll have to tell Caelus next time we see him, I did promise I’d keep him-”

“Tell me what?” Caelus asked, beside her all of a sudden. He settled next to her on the ground, eyes immediately falling to the Strix. “Never mind. I figured it out.”

Terra gave a sheepish smile, holding out the Strix. “Don’t you think he’s cute, though?”

Caelus didn’t seem like he did. He was never very good at hiding his feelings, especially not from her. “He’s… something,” Caelus said.

Terra swatted at his arm playfully. “Be nice at least. He’s technically yours too.”

Caelus looked spooked by the prospect, however he didn’t have time to comment on it before the Strix was hopping onto his knee. Caelus held as still as possible, eyes not leaving the thing.

“Aw! He likes you!” Terra gushed.

“And, uh… what is he, exactly?” Caelus asked.

“I call them Strix,” Terra said matter-of-factly, but she was already getting distracted.

Caelus stayed like that, staring down this creature. If he was honest, he actually didn’t mind this one all that much. It was a bit of an eyesore, but he was a bit smaller than the others. It was roughly the size of half his forearm in height. A manageable size. The creature chirped at him, and Caelus couldn’t help but give a small smile, reaching forward to cautiously stroke the feathers on the creature’s head. It looked like a freaky bird, he commented to himself.

Terra’s words caught up to him then, and he snapped his gaze to her. “I’m sorry, them? What do you mean them?”

“There’s more than one,” Terra said, like it was obvious, “I just haven’t had the time to make them. But-” She trailed off, taping the ground in front of her, at the feet of a few dozen more. They came to life in a blink, all staring at their companion and at Caelus. It was only a second more before Caelus was swarmed in a flurry of feathers and wings. Terra gasped, watching as the creatures settled and Caelus was covered with the birds.

Caelus did not look happy. Terra tried to keep her giggling subdued.

“Get them off,” Caelus said through his teeth.

“I don’t know, I think this look suits you,” Terra snickered.

“Terra-”

“Okay okay,” Terra said, though her amusement was still evident. She rose to her knees, hands reaching for the creatures, fanning them away or moving them herself. “Come on guys, you heard him. Shoo. Go.”

Caelus was relieved when they were all gone, but he was still grumpy. Terra giggled again.

“Oh come on, It wasn’t that bad! Stop being so grumpy. I saw you smiling at the first one, I know you secretly like them,” Terra teased.

“I do not,” Caelus denied.

“Uh-huh, okay, whatever you say big guy.”

Terra’s amusement was cut short when one of the Strix flew over and pecked at her neck.

“Ow!” She cried out, hand flying to the spot. She frowned at the creature who fluttered in front of her, looking up with that curious gaze of theirs. She pulled her hand away, only for it to come back smeared with blood. Her frown deepened even more.

“Are you okay?” Caelus asked, concern in his tone, half reaching toward her out of habit.

“Yeah,” Terra said, more mystified than in pain. “They shouldn’t… they probably don’t know better. They were just created after all.”

Caelus still seemed wary, but Terra didn’t allow for the conversation to continue. Instead, she started herding the birds up to place in a temporary home until she felt like they could join the rest of the world. It was going to be a while before they were accustomed to their new world, and Terra also had to train them on a few things to keep them safe.

This will be fine, Terra could feel it in her very core.

If you wanna read more, I also have this story about Terra and her realization that Vampires exist.

that is all I have, but but I love talking about my things and am open to any questions, and like I said i'd love to see y'alls work too!!

[grumpyascianteddybear]

Vaguely Horny Part One

Tick shared a mental image with me, and Hadi has decided she wants to be dom. I hope you all enjoy this. This ran long and will be broken into three parts. Part two will be posted shortly, as it's already done, and then I will post part three in a bit.

@seatedsacrifice

@jedikitteh

@atdutiesend

This was too much. Hadianna pressed her lips together and watched him on the bed. He had himself propped up on his elbows. Sure, the top covered his ass, but it wasn't hard to tell he wasn't wearing pants. Was he just waiting for her to find him? She drew in a deep breath causing him to look toward her. It was a come hither look that sent waves of heat through her.

Oh, this was the game he was playing tonight? Two could play this game, and she had plans to be the one to deliver the delicious torture that he usually used against her. Hadianna licked her lips as she turned and shut the door before locking it. The click of the lock seemed loud to her ears, but it was likely much loader for him.

Once that was done, she walked over to the dresser. The top drawer held the rope and other toys. She opened it and started to look through it, glancing up into the mirror for his reaction. His ears were standing up, and she didn't miss how he licked his lips either. She had his full attention. That was how she wanted it.

Hadianna picked out the long ropes he usually used h when he was suspending here. The rigging for that could absolutely take his weight. She also grabbed a gag, one of the vibrating butt plugs, and her strap-on. The former princess would have so much fun playing with him tonight. She was going to make him moan so much he went hoarse.

Turning, she smiled and licked her lips. Her pale green hues were already dark with desire for him. Hadianna could see the same desire in his lilac orbs. He was such a pretty boy and a good pretty boy too. " Be a good boy for Mistress, and take what's left off."

She set what she had gotten on the bed as he got moving. Hadianna watched as he took the top off. It was such a wonderful top too. It showed off his shoulder so very nicely. Watching him peel it off caused her to squirm a bit. She was already a bit wet from just watching him and thinking about everything she would do to him.

She removed her boots and her pants, revealing crimson lace boy shorts. Hadianna now got the satisfaction of watching his reaction as she continued to strip. There was now missing how his length stood at attention for her. He knew what he would be getting, and they both knew he would enjoy it.

Once she was done with just her panties, mostly because she wanted her bra gone. She was also a generous Mistress that liked to have her nipples played with. He was also already kneeling with his hands resting palm up on his knees. It was a sign of submission and one that she always enjoyed seeing.

[mach-speed-spin]

y'know, i'm kind of curious as to your thoughts on the outfits in those pieces of promo art that dropped. unsurprisingly i honed in on bsb and... the fashion choices are. interesting to put it lightly. like:

takao and rei: they look awful i'm sorry. out of the four of them whoever decided they were going with a plaid look is insane.

max: he looks okayish? it's not a max vibe but it looks better than it does on takao and ESPECIALLY rei

kai: the best looking out of the main four, mostly because you can barely see the plaid. also he shook things up a bit seemingly as opposed to literally just wearing a tuxedo.

daichi: he looks awful but also to be fair like. daichi is not a formal wear kind of person literally nothing you could give him would fit

yuriy: it looks fine in the art but like. in practice imagine going to some fancy party and some dude shows up wearing a bright orange suit. dude literally out here with this team flare grunt lookin outfit 😭

mathilda: she looks Fine. no strong feelings either way

brooklyn and kyojyu: lumping them together because my thoughts are basically the same, they're wearing their usual attire but it does look good so it could be worse

michael: no comment needed. ???/10. i don't know if i love it or hate it. who even invited him here he's like barely there in g-rev

overall the bsb one alone is the outfit collection ever and seeing as how you rated the fashion of characters from every series i'm curious as to how you feel on the art for all 3 series

Takao and Rei: I agree entirely. It really doesn't work for them

Max: Unlike Takao and Rei, I can actually see Max wearing a tuxedo

Kai: Kai has always had immaculate drip so it's no surprise he looks great

Daichi: He should've just worn his G-Rev outfit

Yuriy: Bro got the traffic cone tuxedo. 10/10

Kyojyu and Brooklyn: I have the same opinion as do on their canon outfits. Kyojyu looks good (though not as good as in G-Rev) and Brooklyn looks great

Mathilda: She's alright but doesn't stand out much

Michael: 11/10 he makes me a proud American (despite not being American in the first place). I think every US president should wear that to their inauguration

Kyoya: I can't believe he's not wearing a crop top. I refuse to believe this

Yu: His top half is the same but his shorts are different and it really doesn't match

Tsubasa: I don't have much to say here. He dresses like I'd expect him to at a formal event

Gingka: He looks the best out of the mfb cast. The suit's colors really match his canon outfit

Masamune: The only way I can see him wearing that is after Chao-Xin called him out for not looking presentable enough for the world championships. As for the look itself, maybe if it had the same pattern as Gingka it'd look better

Benkei: They couldn't even give him a suit that matches his red and black jacket. Sad

Kenta: I'd have preferred a modified version of his Metal Fury design, but this still works

Madoka: Something feels off but I can't put my finger on what

Hikaru: Looks great and I want that dress for myself

Ryuga: He'd look great if it weren't for the fact that Ryuga would never wear that. This man has spent months presumably wearing the same shirt every day and I can't see him ever putting on a tie

Free: Looks great except for the suspenders

Valt: Drippy af

Shu: I can't see much since part of his fit is hidden, but from what I can see, he's drippy af

Lui: I want that jacket really bad. I have no use for it since where I live we rarely go lower than 30 Celsius but still

Bell: That's practically his canon outfit. like capes

Ranzo: Kiyamas are always great looking. Their genetics make it impossible to not have some of the best drip in all of Burst

Rashad: Bro got the Ryuga cape. He should've had his spiked shoulder pad though

Basara: Simultaneously a 2/10 and a 10/10. I don't know why

Ilya: It's a pretty simple dress, and while it works, it could benefit from a fire design on it to match her bey

Payne: I cannot see Payne ever wearing anything other than his canon outfit. Like Ryuga, his very presence here is out of character

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! I attempted the 250 calorie challenge again this week to highlight the hunger faced by Palestinians in Gaza. If this is your first time reading, you can find details in previous posts. This mini ready to eat meal contains tuna, corn, beans and carrots, totalling 171 calories. Even though I ate this for second breakfast in order to make it to lunch, I was very apprehensive. I. Barely. Made. It. But I did. This little meal was tasty even though I don't like beans. There're 3 flavours and I've found all of them palatable. I'll certainly buy them again.

I may not crave fastfood, but I do have cravings for other meals. During our weekly catch up, Grace mentioned her sushi lunch. Suddenly, I was reminded of vinegary pearl rice topped with fresh fish. The craving drove me nuts! Our local supermarket chain has a food hall selling various types of meals, including sushi. That was where I dashed to for my fix. This platter of 10 was mostly delicious. They added a tad too much mayo to the salmon roll; apart from that, I relished every bite. Can't believe I forgot about sushi when it's yummy. I must have it more often!

There was a new dish at the cai fan stall which I visit for lunch on return to office days - stirfried tau kwa with leek. I love leek so I ordered that, stirfried broccoli and cauliflower, fuyong egg and rice. Shredded carrots, sweet peas and onions were incorporated into the dishes. Pork and chicken were available, but I couldn't resist fuyong egg and don't regret my decision to order it. If I must name the reason a meatless meal isn't a difficult choice here, I would give all the credit to our hawkers. Their egg and tofu dishes taste incredible and their prices remain reasonable. I paid $3.20 for this filling lunch. Good luck finding salad or pasta at this price with as much nutrition when you dine out!

https://www.reuters.com/world/middle-east/un-experts-say-famine-has-spread-throughout-gaza-2024-07-09/

We've been having scorching afternoons but we also have thunderstorms and downpours. It can get better pretty cold in the office and malls so I bought a sweater. This fleece one is warm and not only did I find it stylish, Pa did too. The colours match with shorts and leggings in my wardrobe so yeah, I'll get alot of mileage. I've brought it out with me a few times already and wore it when the air-conditioning got too cold. So far, I'm happy with my buy and I'll definitely check out 361⁰ whenever I want cosy sweaters!

Please check out the Reuters article, guys, it's heartbreaking to see children reduced to pi bao gu (skin stretched around bones, emaciated) and dying from starvation in Gaza as a result of this genocidal war. Human rights should be for everyone. If it is only wielded as a geopolitical tool, it just seems hypocritical to me. Frankly, I no longer believe that proponents of human rights are sincere about wanting to make the world a better place. Because watching these Palestinians suffer just feel so wrong. 下次见!

[fivelakesinwriting]

Blissful {Dylan O'Brien}

Author's Notes: So short it probably doesn't require a read more, but...him cute in that bow-tie and suspenders. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment - messages, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Thank you! xoxo

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual references - sexual innuendos, Mentions of drinking, otherwise just fluffy. It's just a blurb, short.

Requested? Nope. Requests are open!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. And you do not have permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Dylan liked weddings. Mostly he enjoyed an excuse to dress up, drink and dance the night away. But ever since he and his girl together the event seemed to mean just a little bit more to him, especially that of his very best friend.

"Oh, my god. You look so cute." She smiled as she adjusted Dylan's bow-tie and kissed his scruffy chin.

"I'm handsome. Rugged and handsome." Dylan laughed softly as he placed his hands on her sides, letting her toy with his suspenders and kiss his face.

"No. You're adorable. Your little bow-tie, and these suspenders. I wanna eat you up, O'Brien." She hummed into his neck as she held his suspender and pulled herself closer to him.

"Well, I just have to go and get a few more photos taken and and then I will let you do whatever you want to me." Dylan muttered with a smile, fighting the urge to close to his eyes and pull her dress up over her hips. The sun was warm on his face, her kisses soft and sweet on his neck, he was getting that blissful feeling, and they hadn't had sex outside since they were on vacation in Mexico.

"Fine. But only because I love you." She pouted up at him, hands still wrapped around his suspenders.

"Thank you, honey. I love you, too. And don't let my sister give you any more champagne for a bit. She's a terrible influence on you."

**I have stopped doing a tag list for the time being. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for Dylan O'Brien, Andrew Garfield, Eddie Munson and Joseph Quinn are open!!! Requests for OBX are closed.

If you liked this, you might like my other fics:

Her Outfit {Dylan O'Brien}

For the Team {Dylan O'Brien}

Nice to Me {Dylan O'Brien}

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

Grumpy | Anzai HCs + Drabble

cw/tw// corruption kink, degradation, rough sex, blood drinking. biting, creampie, size kink, authority kink

Fighting bloodlust + insomnia = short temper

He's never really been great about listening to authority, or following protocol. And he hasn't really given a fuck about pretending that he was.

Which leads to a lot of fights and suspensions and guilt because if he's suspended then he's not out there helping as much as he can

This gets somewhat solved when he gets with you

Sleeping with you and actually feeling rested afterwards makes dealing with the blood lust easier, and he's less testy at work

But no matter where he turns for advice he gets the same answer, you two need to start "training" to deal with his blood lust and lust for you safely in the long run, for both his job and your relationship

Fast forward five years, and he's still a somber mostly silent man when you guys are out in public on his off days, but he's so mellow in comparison many of his friends look at him like he's grown a second head sometimes

When they ask you what you do to make him so calm, you just smile and blush and tell them you "spoil" him

No one buys it

"Anzai.." You called from bed, the sheets barely covering your naked form where you were sprawled out comfortably.

Your fiance hummed but was still focused mostly on the case file in front of him, which was not what he should be doing when the moon is out. If he didn't rest during the night hours the day hours were hell on him. Rest, for Anzai, meant two things. Sleep and sex.

And given the tense set of his shoulders and the frown on his handsome face you guessed sleep would have to come later.

"Yuuki." Still no response.

"Baby." A slight smile this time, but his eyes were still trained on his files. That meant he was waiting for his favorite.

"Mister?" You didn't have to fake the softness in your voice, it was always there in that place in your head where he was Mister and you were his little girl- waiting to be corrupted. Ruined.

Finally, he put the paper down and you could see the slight shiver that passed over him.

"What's your safe word little girl?"

"Sniper."

"Remember it." Was the only warning you got before he was dragging you naked from your bed and pushing you to your knees, the soft carpet the only thing saving your joints as you reached up to take out his cock just like he taught you.

The wet spot on his briefs had your legs clenching together and by the time you were struggling to fit him in your mouth you were also fighting the urge to touch yourself.

Anzai noticed and he laughed in that condescending way that made you whimper.

"Is my slutty little girl craving some dick in her cunny?" You tried to nod, but he was holding your head in place while he fed you every inch of his throbbing length. He balls were bouncing off your chin chasing the pleasure your pleading eyes gave him. He managed to pull out of your mouth before he came too early, but just barely. He helped you up and nudged you towards the bed- one hand still stroking his thick shaft.

"Hands and knees, baby. Just like I showed you."

You know your thighs are still a mess from the last time, you'd felt the slickness when you'd woken up looking for his warmth when he left the bed. So the groan from him you guessed was from how hot it looked. You preened, arching your back to show off because you wanted to be pretty for him.

You wanted him to be pleased with you.

"Fuck. You're perfect." His hand came down sharply on your ass and you whined, but you only pushed your ass out again. Obediently taking the pain he trained you to crave. But it was the way his voice was deeper now that had you hoping..

You glanced over your shoulder and you saw his fangs flashing along with the half red half white of his eyes, and the yellow of his pupils that signaled his stable half transformation. And god if it didn't make you that much wetter.

"Mister, your teeth are really big. Are you going to bite me?" Another smack made tears well up in your pretty eyes, and he nodded.

"I'm going to bite you while I'm deep inside your tight little cunt. It felt good last time right?" Despite his seemingly considerate words he only gave you the barest bit of prep before he was pressing his cock against your folds.

"Y-yeah, you made me feel really good down there-" Your own scream cut you off as he slammed inside you fully in one thrust. His cum kept you from tearing but the painful stretch caused your tears to fall down your cheeks as you cried.

Anzai groaned his grip on your hips becoming painful as he started fucking you harder, harder, as hard as it took to make sure you kept crying such pretty tears for him.

"Mister! Please, it h-hurts.." You begged through your tears and your fiance's only response was to start abusing your clit as well. Now your legs were shaking from the overwhelming stimulation of the pinches and slaps to your clit.

How was he to resist striking and biting your jugular vein when you were making such ridiculous sounds, fucked dumb and crying on his dick?

That set you off, clenching and cumming around him as the final dose of pain pushed you past the threshold he tricked you into loving. The pain only made you cum harder around him, milking him for every drop of cum he fucked into your spasming cunt.

He was growling wildly at your throat as he finished feeding with a few particularly deep and cruel thrusts to make sure his seed was packed in deep.

So maybe you did more than spoil him..

[mushroom-winners-proof]

How do you come up with the office outfits for everyone because i love them! 😍

omg thank you so much ahaaaa

the TL;DR of it all is that i just try to translate key design points from their original designs to be more suited for suits. i also look up a lot of suit designs- both regular and elaborate ones for fancy events to get inspiration and to see if something looks good and applicable to the character i'm working with. i'll give an elaborate example below the cut

i had a feeling that aqua would be well received so i'll use her as an example (it also gives me the chance to fix her shoes on the drawing file lmao)

I changed her straps to be a pink tie. It's an eye-catching accessory on her chest that dually fulfills the purpose of giving her emblem a place to be on display just like on her original design (Terra and Eraqus's emblems aren't directly on their chest accessory, so I turned their straps into suspenders). As for what type of suit she wears beyond it being a corset suit, I wanted to keep it that form-fitting Italian feel to match her pre-existing tight outfit; Aqua's original outfit is comprised mostly of spandex and then the flowy pieces of her sleeves and skirt, and attributing those pieces to a jacket an Italian suit was best for the base suit

Not much to say, just gave her a corset suit to mirror the corset she wears.

I can't just have Aqua walk around with armor on her, so the closest I thought to do was just give her silver buttons and cufflinks. It's not exact, but it does borrow from something round and metallic on her design.

One of Aqua's most defining design points is her flowy sleeves and skirt. Evidently I can't do something like that exactly while wanting to fulfill other design points, so I went with a short jacket to fulfill the role. It still provided a similar shape and silhouette as the original pieces, yet is more fitted for a business setting.

Instead of complete pants, Aqua wears shorts and stockings. I didn't want to put her in a skirt since it didn't feel right to her character nor her character design, so I went with a complete set of pants and then a jacket with a flared bottom to create an illusionary separation between the two to mimic the feel of shorts and stockings. It dually helped that the corset turned the bottom of the suit into a boxed shape to mimic shorts, yet its opening in the middle prevented it from looking like a skirt. It's hard to see, but I did give Aqua a belt with a silver buckle to mimic her white sash

I fiddled with these probably the most. I thought of making them regular shoes, but my need to make the design as accurate to the original as I could forced me to reconsider. Originally I did go with slip-on shoes with black and white accents: Aqua's boots were a singular shape and the pattern of business shoes offered a similar-enough chance to imitate the look and colors. However it was only when I was designing Eraqus's look that I realized the shoes themselves looked pretty lackluster and weren't as eye catching and unique as Aqua and Eraqus's original boots were. After looking at some shoes for a bit I eventually came upon the shoes we have now and they definitely feel more faithful, unique, and stylish.

A lot of KH characters wear gloves so it's only right I apply it to their suits too. Fingerless can be worn with suits, however for Aqua's business attire where I want her to appear professional and important, full gloves were better suited for the whole look.

As for what type of suit she wears beyond it being a corset suit, I wanted to keep it that form-fitting Italian feel to match her pre-existing tight outfit; Aqua's original outfit is comprised mostly of spandex and then the flowy pieces of her sleeves and skirt, and attributing those pieces to a jacket an Italian suit was best for the base suit.

the thought process for these outfits vary with the character: some have more thought in them opposed to others (though I am going through the phase where i'm thinking of redesigning a few) but for the most part they all follow a similar process like this :)