#oh no this is effing perfect

[gamingofkenna]

Collection of Disco Elysium photos I've taken so far (the last one is particularly funny because my IRL legal name is Ronni)

[heartsaglowww]

joe fucking goldberg i will NEVER forgive you for what you did to love quinn. you ungrateful slutty ASSHOLE!

[demi-is-doomed]

Oh how it must be nice to have someone who loves you and can actually show it.

Oh how it must be nice to know you're in safe hands who will never harm you in anyway.

Oh how it must be nice knowing that the one you love and adore the most is the one who lays beside you.

Oh how it must be nice to know you're hearing only truths and not being told lies.

Oh how it must be just so lovely to have someone who values you instead of tarnishing your self worth.

[pearlfeline]

the world's best tour guide

peter parker x fem!reader/stark!reader

word count: 2.6k

tw: none

a/n: made this longer to make up for the last one but then i went so far i didn't know how to end it lol hope its still readable because i don't think so :') enjoy ALSO HOCO PETER CALLBACK BC I MISS WATCHING THAT MOVIE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MIDDLE SCHOOL OH GOOOOOOOOD

“There needs to be somebody else with me!” Your father exclaimed.

“Oh, well maybe you should’ve thought of that before making this fraudulent internship?”

“It’s… real. It’s real to me.” Your father gazes at you longingly.

“Soooo people are supposed to believe I have to work my way up through this internship despite the fact that we share a last name and address?” You look up from your laptop for the first time during this conversation.

“There’s celebrities out there that don’t give their children even a penny, you’re lucky.” Tony shrugs, popping a grape in his mouth.

"Plus, it makes perfect sense! You're a little builder like me aren't you?" He says in between chews.

“Those are mine,” You snag the bowl back to your side of the kitchen island. “and I’m adopted!” You shove two grapes in your mouth to one-up him. “Do you know how effed up you would be to cut off my only source of income when I’m adopted?!” You were muffled by the grapes in your mouth.

“Don’t curse.”

“I said eff I didn’t say fuck.”

“DON’T CURSE.” Tony warned.

“Ugh, where’s mom? I wanna complain about you.” You groaned, taking yourself and your laptop upstairs.

“Leaving at 11:30!” Tony shouted through the stairs.

You waved him off, rushing to your room. You continued working on your computational model simulated lab that Bruce designed for you to play around with.

“Bam.” You say to yourself as you let the 3D models crash into eachother.

“Knock knock.” Your mom says quietly.

“Mom, don't say knock knock. Just knock on the door.”

“Honey, let’s get off the computer for a second.”

Pepper closes your laptop gently. “Just go with your father hon. He’s just using this as an excuse. He wants you to work with him more he loves you.” She crouches down at your eye level, taking your hand.

“Everybody knows how smart you are, they want to work with you. Okay? Okay. Great, get dressed.”

“It's not that I don't want to go, it's the fact that I'm probably not allowed to touch anything fun or follow dad anywhere cool. Also your pep talks are getting shorter and shorter.” You huffed.

“I’m hungry. I want lunch. Maybe your dad should’ve waited for me to make my toast before asking me to come up here.” Pepper takes one last look before leaving the room. “Be ready in 5 minutes.”

You begrudgingly come downstairs.

“You look great honey.” Tony clasps his hands together.

“I didn’t even change.” You said flatly.

“…Okay. In the car.”

Pepper gives you a look with many meanings behind it. If you had to guess, her expression meant “Be nice”, “He’s trying his best”, and “Shut up don’t complain”.

You give your mom a half-hearted thumbs up before leaving.

After a little while of driving, Happy comes to an abrupt stop.

“Dude what the-” Your phone dropped to the bottom of Happy’s seat in the process.

“Here’s the kid.” Tony says, trying to hide his smile. It was evident even from the backseat.

A boy with a linty hoodie and a beaten down bag waved to the car, a matching grin plastered on his face after he realized who was inside.

“Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed.

Your dad gets out of the car, exchanging words with the boy.

Tony opens his door. “Yeah go sit back there. Now, I trust you know not to bother my daughter.”

As if on cue, Peter opens the door to see you with intimidation in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“H-Hi.” Peter sits in his seat stiffly. He extends a hand and reels it back realizing what your dad had just said.

“He’s just kidding.” You shake your head, chuckling. “…I’m allowed to greet people.”

Peter swallows a lump in his throat. “Right. Of course. I’m just not sure if I can greet people.” He wipes his sweaty hand on his sleeve before extending it out again.

“Peter.” He looks up with a shy smile.

“Y/N.” You nod, shaking his hand.

“I saw you on youtube. The robot you built? The one that could project a hologram five times its size? So cool.” He gushes.

You smile shyly, having to look away from embarrassment.

“I’ve seen you on youtube too.” You grin subtly.

"...Oh god. I was only ten, my solar system was supposed to orbit around slowly. I used paperweights instead of styrofoam balls and the battery I used was high powered, they weren't supposed to fly out like that. I even paid for the school's camera with my Christmas money-"

"Uh- no.. I meant like the spider thing?"

Dumbfounded, Peter looks over to Tony through the rear view mirror. Tony meets his eyes and gives him a wink.

"Oh... I didn't know you knew about that." Peter sinks into his seat.

"Don't be embarrassed. I think it's cool." You smiled.

Peter unconsciously smiles back at you. "Thanks.. I…try." Peter cringes at his attempt to reply to you normally.

You lessen the distance between you and him and look at him fascinated.

"How do you swing around? Lab-made fibers? It looks.. almost organic."

Peter tries not to flinch and holds his breath. He should've brought his breath mints. What if his breath stinks? He ate a string cheese before he left the apartment.

"I-I uh- I make them myself. It's web fluid. When it flys out of my web shooters, it solidifies into that flexible, strong stuff." He pulls up his sleeve to show you.

"Woah, how many cartridges do you need?" You run your fingers along the band around his wrist, staring curiously.

"They last a while, but I switch them out like every few weeks-"

"We're here." Happy yawns, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms.

"Thanks Hogan." You pat his shoulder from the backseat and get out of the car.

Peter blinked and all of the sudden, everyone filed out of the car. He frantically steps out, his eyes having a hard time adjusting to the sun.

"Here." You push him three inches to the side, bringing a shadow to shield the sun from his eyes. A really big shadow.

Peter can't help but let his mouth hang open.

"Just as flashy as I remember it dad." You said before stealing his sunglasses from his face and running to the doors.

"Hey, GENTLE! They're Dita! VINTAGE!" He shouts.

You giggled as you tried to frantically slide your keycard into the scanner that unlocked the doors.

"I'm gonna tell the receptionist they're a gift!" You yelled back before rushing inside.

This makes your dad quicken his pace, rummaging his pocket for his keycard.

Peter had never seen Tony like this before. There was someone who was alive, very real, and actually had authority over him. His child. Peter slowly catches up to Tony who's waving his credit card around the sensor.

"Sir.. I don't think that's the right card." He mumbled.

Tony looked down at his gold card, his brain short-circuiting for a moment.

After composing himself and taking out the correct card, Tony almost flung the door open, his eyes locked to you leaning over the front desk.

"Y/N!"

You turned around, the sunglasses nowhere to be found.

"Yeah?" You tilted your head innocently.

The receptionist takes this opportunity to go back to her typing after you finally stopped talking her ear off. She wasn't wearing them either.

Peter stood awkwardly behind Tony. He stared at the high ceiling and the enormous fish tank that stretched across the wall with fish he had a hard time telling if they were real.

"Gotcha." You reveal the sunglasses behind your back, handing them back to your father.

"Not my style.. Also probably not her's either. Right, Erin?"

The receptionist only shoots you a glance, her fingers never stop clacking on the keyboard.

"Kid, this way." Tony sighed, gesturing Peter and following you to an elevator.

Peter shyly makes his way to the corner of the elevator and staring at the array of buttons. He's never been in a building with over five floors, let alone a hundred.

"So... What are we doing exactly?" You asked your father.

"I thought I'd give the kid a tour." Tony says while he scrolls through his phone.

Peter fiddles with his hoodie's strings, unable to make eye contact as he's being mentioned.

"Oh." Tony stops.

"What?" You asked warily.

"I need to approve something. Something either dumb and obvious or an array of important decisions." Tony looks through his missed calls and rings a number.

"Tour my ass." You mumbled.

If superheroes do anything, they double book. Constantly.

The elevator dings and you and Peter file out. You turn around and Tony doesn't step off.

"You've been promoted to tour guide. Okay bye." Tony closes the elevator doors and you watch him descend to a lower floor.

"I went from being a child of nepotism to a tour guide? I don't consider that a promotion."

Peter was visibly dumbfounded. He was intimidated by Tony by some degree yes, but he already knew him. He's never been to the tower, and now he's alone with his child that could make or break his reputation here.

"...Dude?" You wave your hand over his face. From your perspective, ever since your dad went downstairs, Peter had been blankly staring at the floor.

"Hm?" Peter's eyes didn't leave the floor.

"Wanna meet Dr. Banner?" You smiled. It reminded Peter of a cat that knew it was doing the wrong thing.

Something about your expression told Peter you wanted to bother Bruce more than you wanted to introduce Peter to him.

After a string of trailing after you in hallways that looked like they were from the future, you slid open the keypad, and rapidly drew a complex pattern into it.

"Hey Dr. B."

"Woah." Peter's eyes wander throughout Bruce's lab. Holograms fill a lot of empty space.

"Hey mini Stark, hand me that slide rack will you?"

You were all smiles. Peter could see you were finally in your element.

"What are you doing now?" You peer over Bruce's shoulder.

"Not too close, unless you wanna put on a coat and some goggles." He says, eyes locked on the microscope.

You immediately run back to the doors, a nervous Peter Parker blocking the coat hanger.

"C'mon Peter." You enthusiastically put on a lab coat and fasten the glasses over your face. Without hesitation, you put another pair on Peter's face and throw him a coat.

You grab him by the sleeve just as he put on the coat and run back to Bruce.

"Dr. Banner, this is Peter." You smiled.

Bruce looks up from his microscope and gives a small wave.

"From what I've seen, I think he might be one of us." You chuckled.

"...And maybe one of you guys." You give Peter a teasing smile.

Peter let out a small and odd noise before clearing his throat.

"Dr. Banner, I'm a huge fan." Peter gushes.

"Hey, show him your webs." You pull his sleeve back.

Bruce’s eyes studied the webshooters.

"He's the spider guy." You say proudly.

Peter tries not to shake uncontrollably from a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

"Oh.. You made these?" Bruce blinks curiously.

Peter nods and tries to conceal his growing smile.

“He’s one of you guys. I told you.” You wink at Peter, only for him to see.

“That’s… how? How did you make these?” Bruce chuckled in disbelief.

“Can I borrow your whiteboard?” Peter asks.

After writing down the entire formula for the polymer he used for his webs, Peter finally slouches over. His work takes up a majority of the board.

Bruce stares in awe of Peter’s creation.

“Basically this is it.” Peter scratches the back of his neck.

“Visit any time kid.” Bruce chuckled, speechless. He gives Peter a pat on the shoulder.

“How about a snack?” You asked Peter.

“If you’re gonna pass this little audition with my dad, you should probably know where the kitchen is.” You sighed, pulling the goggles off your face.

“Are you sure you’re not just hungry?” Peter asks.

“Oh, I finally got the boy to let his guard down? Telling jokes now huh?” You laughed.

Peter shakes his head, smiling to the floor.

“I just met Bruce Banner.”

“Mhm.” You trail down a long hallway, to a shiny pair of doors that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The kind of doors Peter would visualize any person having a hard time opening.

Behind the doors was a kitchen area bigger than the living room of his apartment. The marble top island was like his dining table.

“Take anything.” You said casually, fetching two spoons from a drawer.

Peter walks in like he’s just attended his own surprise party. When he opened the pantry he didn’t expect a wall of snacks.

“I like these.” Peter points to the bag of mini reese’s cups.

“Then bring the bag dummy.” You snorted and opened the freezer.

“How about some ice cream?”

Peter and you somehow moved all your snacks to the balcony and you started tearing away at them almost immediately.

“You brought a lot.” Peter unwraps a peanut butter cup while you sink your spoon into your coffee ice cream.

“What are you hinting at man?” You give him a glare.

“NO! God, no I meant I don’t want to eat all this food, it’s- it’s not mine I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” By the end of Peter’s sentence he pops the candy in his mouth, defeated.

“I’m messing with you. Dig in. Seriously though Cap is on a new diet he found on this dumb blog. I never should’ve gave him an iPad for Christmas.” You rolled you eyes.

“It’s mostly my snacks now. Sometimes Natasha eats with me when I bother her enough.”

“Cap? Cap as in?” Peter knew the answer but needed a confirmation. There was no way he could be convinced he’s in the very building where all these heroes roam around.

“Captain America.”

“And Nat?”

“Oh, Black Widow.” You say in a sultry voice.

“That’s my lady. We watch dumb movies when I come around here.” You added.

“That’s.. wow. You see them often?” Peter takes a spoon and digs into the ice cream too.

“I guess.” You shrugged.

“Just so you know, they’re all lame like me. Not as cool as you think.” You grinned at the memories you had of them hanging around.

Peter shook his head.

“You’re not lame. You’re cool. I don’t think anyone else can mess with Tony Stark like you can.” Peter chuckled.

You look down and take another scoop of ice cream.

“…Not that he’s the only reason why you’re cool. You’re so smart and really funny.” And really pretty. But he wasn’t going to say that.

“Thanks. You’re pretty cool too.”

Peter let out a dry laugh.

“No. I’m not. You should see me at school seriously. It varies from being invisible to being a-”

“Don’t call yourself a loser or a nerd before I do a flip off this balcony.” You groaned.

“Besides, what’s a nerd if not a person in the wrong environment?” You give him a nudge.

“This is an environment where nerds thrive… And the occasional superhuman.” You added.

“Then why aren’t you getting recruited possibly, like I am?” Peter asked.

“My parents won’t ever let that happen.” You sighed, opening a bag of spicy chips.

“Maybe in the future, I’ll be one of these guys, we’ll be older, and we can convince your parents.” He said.

“You’re so innocent.” You laughed. “But yeah. If you somehow land a spot here, you have to help me get in too.”

Peter held out his pinky.

“..What are you doing?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I…pinky promise.” Peter held a stern expression. For the world’s best tour guide, he was willing to keep his word.

“Okay, swear?” You held out your pinky.

“Swear.”

[crazilust]

My thoughts on these placements

based on my last lover. PSA: this might be biased. don’t take it TOO seriously, it’s mostly for me to purge this relationship. LETS GOOOOOOO !!

1. Gemini rising

Have you ever felt hella special to someone and then you see them interact with someone else and you’re like “oh. i’m… i’m just another one of their friends.” this is what it feels to be around a gemini rising sometimes. most of the ones I know, are either extremely popular, know alot of people or at the very least just hang out regularly with a bunch of people (might just be colleagues and not necessarily friends but they’re often surrounded). And they have this way of making you feel special, and funny and entertaining but most of the times, they’re the ones controlling the discussion and the flow of it.

when it came to my ex, he knew so many people and every person he was interacting with, he knew a little detail about them, and it made the person care so much about him. Even though he didn’t as much. Somewhat flimsy, it’s hard to know a Gemini rising’ true intentions with you.

2. Sagittarius sun

Sags don’t have the best reputation in my book, and he certainly didn’t help the stereotypes. The thing with Sags sun that I find hard to understand is the constant lie they have between who they truly are and who they want to be. It’s a constant battle of “don’t look too hard into my flaws bc soon enough I’ll be this grandiose super star and therefore you can forget about the awkward nerd you have in front of you.” Most of them are nerds, truly. But they hate it. As opposed to Aquarius sun’s desire to be different and their ability to stand on their two feet even tho they’re being outcast, a Sag sun’s deepest fear is to be seen as the weirdo they are. (that unfortunately they associated with being a loser)

If you’ve never been close with a Sag, you’ll be the first to deny this claim. “What?? The Sag I met was THE life of the party! No weirdo here.” or “The Sag I met was a boss ass btch, she had everything under control and very educated!!”

And that, my friends, is what we call a front. Sure, they can be the life of the party, usually very keen on getting their diplomas, but if you don’t know them, that’s the only part of them you’ll get to see cause it’s the part they deem acceptable.

I’m not even gonna comment on the commitment issues, cause yall… you know it already lmao.

3. Virgo moon

Nobody hates an underdeveloped virgo moon more than they hate themselves. So critical, judgemental and harsh. They notice absolutely everything that you do and instead of going to you and confront you about the issue, they’ll keep it in, and throw it back to your face the minute it’s convenient for them (when they effed up). Very hard to love because they simply can’t accept that you love and accept their own flaws. I remember my ex asking me litteraly all the time “How can you love me if I’m not as pretty as before” (it was in his head, he was just as cute) “How can you love me if I don’t have a job?” (He had lost his job for only 2 months at that point) No matter what I’d say, he couldn’t believe that I loved him wholeheartedly, no matter what.

Sometimes, when I look at a virgo moon, unevolved ofc, all I can see is pain. Virgo is an already hard sign to have imo (sorry!) but in the moon placement, it’s just sad. These natives are so harsh on themselves and accept no help whatsoever. And if you do try, they’ll do everything to push you away and trust me, one thing Virgos do is succeed.

4. Libra Mars

As a scorpio mars, libra mars is not my favorite placement. But as I checked my vedic chart and I do, in fact, have a libra mars, I hate that I understand why they act the way they do.

They care so much about everything being perfect, everyone getting along and most importantly being at peace with the ones they love. The cliches are true for a reason, they dislike conflict and yes, are passive agressive but it’s because they don’t want to lose the people they love with petty drama.

So they don’t say anything, and they accomodate even tho that one thing irritated them and then when you confront them about something, they bring you everything you’ve done wrong for the past six months. That’s the part I hate, ofc, but I also hate that I get it.

I get it. They’re the biggest people pleasers and when they don’t say anything about something that upsets them, they actually think they’re doing it for the greater good. They obviously analyse everything you’re doing wrong, but they don’t mind not saying it cause they’d rather be at peace with you. So how dare you don’t do the same for them?

That’s the mentality. Unfortunately for them, it brings bigger conflict because then you feel betrayed they never said anything to begin with. UGH.

SPEAK YOUR MIND, Libras of any placements actually <3

5. Sagittarius Mercury

If you consider yourself soft, delicate, sensitive, do not date a Sag mercury. These people are ruthless. As friends, I find them hilarious and fun to be around, but as lovers I would never do that to myself again. Just never <3. They are very blunt (which doesn’t mean they won’t lie! We’re talking about a Jupiter ruled sign here yall), but in a way that won’t make you feel good about yourself. They’ll often use humour to attack you and then use it as a shield the moment you call them out on it (i.e : It was just a jokeeeeee!)

Gives very good advice, I’ll give them that. I think sometimes I can have a little bit of tunnel vision and with Sag mercuries, they’re able to tap you on the shoulder and be like “Have you consider this tho?” in the most casual way and you’re like “oh.. no. yes. you’re right”

6. Aquarius Venus

If you love the friends to lovers trope, you’ll just love dating an Aquarius venus because that friendship-like relationship will be the foundation of your dynamic. Everything feels fun, the complicity is at an all time high.

But the commitment.

Now, I’ve read multiple times here that Aquarius venus is actually very committed to the person they love when they like you. Well, I guess I wasn’t his person cause I only felt the commitment phobia.

Anyways, I still loved the dynamic of the relationship, but I can’t lie, it didn’t feel serious at all.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~••~•~•~•~•~•

Well that’s all for me, today. Love yall!!

Remember, these are the big 6 of my ex so it is biased nothing to take too personal but if it applies and resonates, great💛

B.

[paperibbon]

smokey day

feysand x reader sum.: hazy early mornings with your two mates note: 18+ this is truly pwop.... a brief allusion to rhysand's SA but only brief and rlly an allusion but just thought i'd mention. this is a little treat bc i was gone for so effing long (2 months). this isn't the ink universe! totally diff "reader"

Traces of sunlight peak through the heavy velvet curtains, and a streak casts itself across your closed eyes. It’s morning, you’re sure of that, and you’ve slept well; fingers flitting across indents of fabric across your cheeks can attest. A small noise pulls itself from your chest as you adjust your body.

It's a slow pace you’re setting, neither of you truly chasing any fast and swift end, just simply rocking into each other in the early morning light. Rhys is deep inside you, a heavy heat that you can’t exactly ignore, and you doubt you’d want to. His lips are insistent anywhere he can reach, against your throat, in the divot between your jaw and your ear, over your heart, dotted across your cheeks as he rolls his hips deeper into you.

“Too early.” Rhys’s voice is a rumble, vibrating down your spine and curling like a languid cat in your gut. 

“You don’t know that.” You whisper into the morning air. Feyre’s still slumbering soundly, heavy puffs of air escaping her lips as she dreams, a pleasant smile playing on her face. You almost can’t take her beauty, the slope of her nose, the blush of her cheeks, the freckle by her mouth you can’t help but wish to lean forward and kiss her. Rhysand rumbles with soft laughter at the display of affection playing through your mind, kissing your shoulder once, twice. Your brain is hazy, your movements soft and smokey with the fog of sleep still clinging to the edges of you.

“I know everything.” His hands dip lower, cupping the roundness of your hip as his mouth grows more insistent, teeth scraping at the slope of your throat.

“Oh, do you?” It’s breathy, it’s all breathy. He feels insane, hands everywhere, thumb swiping over your chest, pinching at the peaked bud, his lips pressed to the notch where your neck connects to your shoulder.

Rhys’s dark answering ‘Mhm.’ sends chills down your back, and you gasp into the room as his teeth delve into your skin. With fluttering eyes, you push Rhysand back from you, blinking down at the picture he makes. His violet eyes are dark, familiar stars dotting his vision and winking up at you as he rakes them over your form. Your mate’s hair is rustled with sleep, spilling over his eyes and curling at his neck with the hazy heat of the room, dark and inky as the night sky, and in deep comparison with the peek of his teeth behind the lazy smirk that’s spread over his mouth. His tan chest is glistening with a sheen of sweat like moonlight, and when he catches your gaze, the muscles flex playfully. 

“Like what you see?” His voice is lilting, teasing. 

“Same question.” You cock your head with the false challenge, rolling your hips down forcefully. It pulls out a groan from him, his hands flexing, pressing into the skin of your hips.

Perfect. You hadn’t even felt him slip into your mind, but the shadowy presence fills the shape you’ve carved out for him almost completely, sharp claws teasingly tracing against your consciousness. It sends your eyes rolling back into your skull, his laughter dark, spilling across you like sticky molasses.

Without a word, he’s sitting up again, hand snaking around the back of your neck to press his lips to yours. You try to protest, swatting at his chest, sure he can taste the morning breath that lingers against your tongue, but Rhys just smirks, tracing the indents of your teeth with his own tongue. The kiss is languid, lazy, sleepy even, a sloppy press of mouths against each other with bleary eyes and a sticky warm room. With a deft buck of his strong hips, you let a long, high pitched whine trickle from your lips.

“Feels good, huh?” It’s a cocky, challenging comment, and you know he’s waiting for you to pitch something back at him like you have been, give as good as you’re getting, but at the moment you can’t find it in you, absorbed finally in the feeling. Your legs are shaky and trembling, so you’ve resorted to simply circling your hips against him, letting his length hit that wonderful spot he always seems to find. The sun is rising higher, the molten light casting the room in shiny gold. Rhys is beautiful, you decide, brows pinching together in pleasure as you look at him. The light makes him almost glow, dark skin rippling beneath the surface as he meets your meager thrusts with powerful ones of his own. He seems to be settling on a similar thought pattern, eyes soft with fondness. “Mother above, you’re so beautiful.”

“I agree.” Feyre’s voice jolts through you like fire, and you tilt your head to catch her sea blue eyes blinking blearily up at you with a petal-fine smile spread across her lips. You smile back, your spine attempting to bend in sick ways to bring yourself closer to her. With a laugh, she props herself up, allowing her lip to meet yours in a brief, but lovely kiss all the same.

“Welcome to the waking world, Feyre darling.” Rhys captures her hand in his, pressing it to his lips once, twice, three times without breaking any concentration in regards to you, little whines eking past your parted lips, sighs filling out the room with ease.

Feyre’s deft fingers drift from Rhys’s hand, pushing him back into the pillows, and you can feel the tension solidify. The look in Rhys’s eyes flickers, stars almost bursting with light as he tucks an arm under his head, bicep flexing, sharp jaw clenching as your other mate positions herself behind you, chin hooking over your shoulder and hand tracing across the soft skin of your inner thighs, letting her nails bite ever so slightly into your skin. You’re almost trembling for her touch, hips jolting in place in an attempt to coax her where you need her, and she laughs; a mean, sensual sound that pulls another eager sound from you.

“Ask nicely, sweet love.” Her words are whispered into your ear, lips brushing against your skin with every word. She’s everywhere now, both hands coasting over you with a feather-light touch, her mind pressing into yours with a familiar breezy feeling. You can feel her breathing against your back, feel her warm cheek in the very same crook of your neck Rhys had lavished with attention just a few minutes ago. She laughs lightly when your mind makes the connection, and she closes her lips around a spot and makes sure to leave a mark.

“Please.” It’s whiney, desperate, debauched. The room is muggy, humid, and you could almost slip away into it for the day, spending it with your mates just like this, Rhysand and Feyre, the High Lord and Lady of the terrible, fearsome Night Court with all their softened edges and loving caresses. 

Feyre’s fingers trail up from your thighs, hands warm and nails leaving little lines in their wake as she finally places them exactly where you need them. She presses down, circling widely against your clit, and a moan rips itself from you, and subsequently, from Rhysand as you tighten around him without much warning.

“Mother, you’re tight.” He whispers, almost absentmindedly and it’s utterly vulgar. A groan like an avalanche, like a thunderclap fills the room and Feyre laughs against your neck at him, her teeth nipping once again into your skin. You find a free hand threading into her golden hair, pressing her closer, closer, closer to you, until you aren’t really sure where she ends and you begin, her soft skin flushed with heat, red and pink and precious like the flowers sitting on your bedside table.

“Look at how fucked he is.” Pink lips whisper into your ear, your back arched perfectly beneath her hands. The lazy pattern you’d all shared has been forgotten, Rhysand’s hips pressing into you with abandon, Feyre’s deft fingers meeting his rhythm in tight little circles, pulling frequent sighs and pretty moans out of you, ones that she can’t help but play in her mind on a loop. Your head falls back onto her shoulders with a particularly swift thrust from your mate below you, and Feyre laughs again, syrupy and sweet and you can’t help but drown in it.

Rhysand truly does look fucked, a sinful smile playing at his lips, inky hair thoroughly mussed and slick against his forehead. You’re sure you look worse, heat coursing through you like a wildfire, flickering flames eating away at your insides, cheeks sure to be ruddy and sweat sticking your hair everywhere it hangs loose.

You look beautiful. Feyre’s a whisper in your consciousness, a cool breeze, a wave lapping at your shoreline. She pushes forth a mental image laden with her lust, fixated frames of your lips parted in pleasure, your chest flushed and heaving, the valley between your thighs, Rhysand tucked in between them. From the feelings she fills your mind with alone, you’re overwhelmed, not mentioning the feeling of her fingers against you, now drifting to encircle the spread of you over Rhys, a firm squeeze of her hand.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasp wetly, letting her hand slick with you return to her place as you all but topple forward with the answering thrust she’s met with. Now, she’s still, simply setting her palm against your heat, mouth brushing against the column of your neck yet again.

Rhysand catches you as you careen towards him, sitting up from his position and fixing your legs tightly around his midsection, forcing the hand between your thighs out of its temporary position. You’re much closer, much more in each other's orbit now, rather than lazily joining in a sleepy performance of your desires. His hand, strong and sure, cups the back of your neck, eyes scanning your face for any sort of discomfort. It’s twisted up, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, tears dotting the corners of your eyes. The question doesn’t even need to be whispered into the air, doesn’t need to be pushed into your mind; you can tell from the downturn of his lips, the way your other mate twines her fingers into yours, lays her head on your shoulder. The bond between you all is alight with more than just shared lust, more than passion; you feel the love like a warmth blossoming inside you. You feel the love like it’s always been there.

“I just really want to come.” Your voice breaks pitifully, sniffling softly. 

The serious moment shatters like ice as Rhysand snorts at the picture you’re sure you make; teary eyed, sweaty, and all his. Well, all his and all Feyre’s. 

“We can arrange that.” He answers with a chuckle, voice like the roots of a tree, like the rolling of clouds across the sun. In a second, you’re on your back against the pillows, propped up like a royal, with a god and goddess to do bidding with the flick of your hand. 

Rhysand enters you again with a slowness, teasing that whooshes a breath you didn’t know you were holding out all at once. Feyre is providing quite the show, chin hooked over his shoulder to peer at your joining. She’s a beauty in the light of the morning, hair shining like spun gold. Her sapphire gaze twinkles, a soft glow across her skin puts her in contrast with the tan male she’s slung over. 

Rhys curses as he sets a rhythm again, hooking your leg up and over his arm as he drives into you. It’s ecstasy, bliss, all wrapped up into this moment. Your eyebrows furrow again, letting out a whine that you’re sure could wake the whole of Velaris.

“Yeah?” He’s as cock-sure as the day is long, the teasing lilt of his voice could almost make you groan, but he’s cock-sure for a good reason. “Is that all you needed, pretty heart? A good fuck?”

When you nod, they both share a laugh, mocking and sweet at the same time, and a lesser version of you would be embarrassed at the depravity you gain from it. This version of you, this loved and fucked version of you is clawing for more, whining and moaning and weakly raising yourself to meet Rhysand as his thrusts become that much more sure, more pointed.

“So pretty, love. So, so beautiful for us.” Feyre is all honeyed, sultry words, but you can feel the bite of want from her, the sting of lust that comes through her bond. Rhys can surely feel it too, because he’s reeling back, hungry mouth meeting hers in a battle of lips and tongue. She almost melts into his mouth, hand coming to cradle his cheek and you sigh, a smile finding its way to your face. They’re beautiful together, one of Feyre’s paintings come to life in swirls of color and feeling. The two give and take like the Mother made them for it, made them to be each others.

She made you, too. Rhys is again smokey in your head. All for us.

As your lovers turn their attention to you, Rhys’s thumb pressing into your clit, Feyre’s warm gaze, and eventual hands coming to caress you into finishing, you can’t help but feel lucky for this life, this love. You and Rhysand finish within moments of each other, dirty words and promises chasing the high, and Feyre has you both between her thighs until she’s come twice, and you’ve come once more from Rhysand’s wandering hands. In the sun baked afterglow, your head heavy on Feyre’s stomach, her nails working delicately through your hair, you reach for the mating bond, the golden tether holding the three of you so tightly together. It flows through you like a river of heat, from the top of your head to your toes. There’s no feeling being projected down the channels other than sweet, true, and utter love.

[bellakenobi]

4to3 - Madlen Allina Set and Realm of Magic Rose Tights

A very girlboss set that I was almost turning into a full body outfit because I was struggling with the pants waistband, and after that with the blazer seams ripping apart, oh well. Converting stuff is quite the adventure right.

And since I wanted to emulate the original styling I had to convert the Realm of Magic tights too ^^

To wear the blazer alone you'll need a nude bottom.

For YA-AF

💎Blazer

4.8k poly

Fully recolorable (3 channels)

Morphed and all LODs

Everyday, Formal, Career, Not valid for random.

Known issue: both buttons on the wrists and the waist might look a tad distorted due to bone assignment. Also it has some weird triangle shadows on CAS but it's fine in game.

💎Pants

1k poly

1 recolor channel

Morphed and all LODs

Everyday, Formal, Career, Not valid for random.

Known issue: the waistline texture is not perfect 😬

🌹Tights

For TF-EF

1 recolor channel

Download:

Allina set: SimFileShare | Mediafire

ROM Tights: SimFileShare | Mediafire

All credit goes to @madlensims❤️❤️ and EA/Maxis. Original Allina set here.

[devilmademewriteit]

Dark Paradise

part 3 of Salvatore

read part 1, Salvatore, here

read part 2, Playing Dangerous, here

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: left alone in javi’s bed, you go looking for distractions. finding them only leads you further into his world: a world of danger and violence, where no one can protect anyone.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, super SUPER light choking) so 18+ only content; pet names (cariño, hermosa, querida, sweetheart, baby) afab fem reader; reader is American; mentions of hair pulling; allusions to SA; attempted SA against reader (not by javi); violence against reader (hitting, slapping, manhandling); smoking; dubcon (power imbalance, trauma sex??).

word count: 7k+

no use of y/n in this fic

u guys. it is here. and the most exciting part is I can already promise u a part 4!! pls be mindful that this part is darker than the rest. it has many triggering themes, so many sure u read the warnings & stay on the safe side of things.

as always, love u all so effing much. feedback, reblogs, comments & asks are always appreciated, & don’t forget to join the taglist in my pinned post !

-em<3

—

No one compares to you. I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side.

- Dark Paradise

“Girl, where did you go?”

You’re on the landline with Carrie, one of the few half-friends you'd made living in Medellín, thighs sore and bruised from the backseat-loving you’d received the night before. While Javi’s at work, you’re on (his words) 'house arrest,' and lounging alone in his apartment feels eerily quiet. The occasional car drives by—you try not to listen for the sound of scraping tires.

So, around 9:30, you’d decided to fill the silent space with a bit of vapid conversation, realizing that last night's antics (and your unexplained disappearance) may have caused a bit of confusion.

You start by filling Carrie in on the generalities: the guns, the car, and the rescue, at first planning to leave out the more… personal details.

Like the one you'd filed away under 'Riding a Cop to High Heaven in the Backseat of his Jeep.'

You also leave out the part where, afterwards, you’d kicked off your heels by his front door, let down your hair in a sloppy, half-drunk movement, made a beeline to the familiar crinkles and folds of his unmade bed, and swiftly passed out in his embrace.

Oh, to fall asleep between those arms for the rest of eternity.

Given your more cynical—okay, borderline self-denying—approach to life, you felt downright ashamed of how much you’d enjoyed it. How much you’d enjoyed him and all of his lasting touches.

And in the morning… Javi’s hardness biting into your hip was a more efficient wake-up-call than the trial nuke sirens back home; the soft kisses laid down the length of your neck and the long, lazy fingers creeping down your abdomen had you surging to consciousness with embarrassing speed. You’d shivered into wakefulness, flattened against his chest.

“Good morning, cariño.” His words were molasses, melted caramel, thick and damp with sleep.  

“Hmmmh,” was your only reply, sloping into your highest octaves as his hand sank to push aside your already-ruined underwear, dipping lower to toy with the switch only he knew how to turn on best. Arching into his spine, last night’s dress crumpled up above your waist, leaving him to feel more, more, more of you.  

“Thought it would take more convincing,” he breathed against your shoulder, a breeze of late august air.

“Wh’time z’it?”  

“We have time, cariño, we have time.”

When his digits pulled a moan from your lips, no other answers really mattered. He’d loosed that deep, guttural rumble of approval that made your chest swell with pride, your legs part in service and need.  

“Can you hold this leg up for me, baby? S’all you need to do.” He’d helped fold up your knee, and you’d turned to meet him with pleading, drooping eyes, dutifully contorting to mold into the shape of his body. “Perfect, baby, good job,” a rough kiss to your temple, “n’I can do the rest, hermosa—I’ll do the rest.”  

He slid in effortlessly, harmonizing to your sigh of relief with a “shit, s’wet,” and sheathing his cock between the folds of your morning slick. Brows furrowing, mouth falling open, you had every detail of your bliss etched on your expression, all for the beautiful man looming over you. “Always fuckin’ askin’ for it, huh, sweetheart?” He'd mused. “Woke me up moanin’ in your sleep, cariño—dreamin’ about last night?”  

An “mhmm,” was all you could muster. Javi’s hips rolled against your ass, and the resulting feeling of overwhelming fullness had you swearing you were still in reverie. When he paused, snaked his arms under your neck and around your waist, and pulled you flush against his chest, you remember it feeling like a dirty, desperate hug.  

“M’sore, Javi,” you’d whined at the stretch of your opening, the continued drag of Javi’s fingers against your aching, weary clit.  

“S’no excuse, baby,” he’d grumbled into the shell of your ear, pressing hard into that tender bundle of nerves. “Gotta get you used to it.”

A harrumph as he’d turned up the intensity, punishing you for your protests. “Y-you’re a mean-mean man, Javier Peña.”

Soft, gravelly laughter danced, twirled, traveled along the dip of your neck. “‘N you’re gonna come so hard for this mean, mean man.”  

He was right, bringing you to the brink of orgasm with the thick, rough pads of his fingertips, the tip of his cock sliding up and down, over and over, in and out of your guts.  

“Yeah—yes—m’gonna come for you, Javi,” you’d admitted.  

But he’d stolen his magical digits away, used them to turn your jaw, to square your face off with his own concentrated, lust-filled expression. “Show me cariño, yes—gonna be picturin’ that pretty lil’ face aaaaall fuckin’ day,” and you’d tumbled over the edge the moment he’d slid back down to the apex of your thighs, drowning in the darkness of his cinnamon-brown irises and the tantalizing circles—drawn from memory—against your clit.  

“J-javi—it feels—feels s-so good—”  

“I know, hermosa, s’just what you needed, fuck—”

He was already close enough, but your climaxing trembles and your whining, choked gasps had him wrapping his hand around your throat, pushing you further and further down the length of his tensing shaft.  

“Shit—you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me—”  

His release came fast and hard, leaking his hot spend into you, painting your insides like brushstrokes on canvas with his final thrust.  

He seemed to lay there for forever, softening between your walls as sweet slumber carried you off once more. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he’d advised against your shoulder (as if you’d needed any kind of encouragement), “Did such a good job; go back to sleep.”  

It was easy to accede to his command.  

You’d come to for a half-second as he’d placed, fully dressed, the clink of his belt and the crisp waft of his cologne rousing you to near-consciousness, a deliberate, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t answer the door for anyone else, okay, hermosa?”

“Huh? Oh—mhm.”

And you’d vaguely registered a low laugh. “Good to know you’re so well behaved when you’re half-asleep.” His finger traced your cheekbone, dragged down to pull teasingly at your bottom lip. “Means I’ll have to keep fuckin’ you to the point of exhaustion.”

“Mhm—please." Squished and mumbled, guttural and breathless.  

Another soft laugh, and then echoes of receding footsteps.  

Waking up a few hours later, you’d peeled your sticky thighs apart, confused at first by the mysterious pool of wetness between your legs.

You didn’t bother cleaning it up, already feeling the loss of your DEA officer. You somehow chose to dial Carrie's number to kill some time on your day off (or else, you feared, you’d have quickly found another use for your bored fingers).

Being alone in his room leaves you feeling very young. Lying in his bed, thinking about the past night’s events… you feel giddy, like a highschool girl after her first time, and anxious, on edge without Javier’s protection.

You just want to gush about it.

“Do you remember that DEA agent? The Texan?”

You barely have time to finish your thought before Carrie’s cutting your question short.

“Sexy Javi?”

She giggles. You snort indelicately into the receiver.

“I never called him that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she returns. “I deduced it from the amount of times you ranted to me about his… callers.”

You fiddle with the telephone chord, smiling artfully to yourself. “I’m in his bed right now.”

There’s a slap. No doubt the sound of a hand clapping over a set of slack lips. And then—

“I thought he lived outside the city?!”

It’s a strange reaction. You’d expected something a bit more on-topic, confused at your friend’s preoccupation with Peña’s living quarters when you’d just divulged such an out-of-character, personal detail.

Well, at least the enthusiasm is there.

“No, he lives right by the embassy.” You respond, rolling lazily onto your side. Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, you grimace to yourself, taking in (on top of the empty bottle of men’s cologne and an old, broken watch) a box of tissue paper, a pair of handcuffs (not regulation), a smatter of sex toys, and a few scattered, unopened condoms. “That new… fancy building on the corner,” you continue, swiping a few tissues between your legs, trying not to giggle at the teasing Javi was in for tonight, “Carrie—are you seriously not gonna ask how it was?”

There’s a pause. You hear a rustle in the background; the sound reminds you of students in class, whipping out pens and notebooks.

Is she taking notes?

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

That reaction felt more appropriate.

It all comes bursting out of you—the night out, Javi’s rescue, your backseat escapade. Carrie’s an ideal audience, gasping and ‘oooh’-ing and ‘girl!’-ing at all the right moments.

When you get to the end of your tale, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Carrie pries for more and more specifics, keeping you on the phone for close to an hour. You don't give her everything (did she really need an approximation of his size?) but you do make sure to remind her, often, that Javier Peña was an excellent fuck.

Finally, the conversation dies down. Sitting up, you realize just how desperately you’re in need of a shower. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the smell of sex, tequila, and Javi’s day-old cologne clinging to your skin, but his place gets hot, and you hadn't anticipated the need to pack deodorant in your purse during last night's going-out prep.

Either way, Carrie's become distracted, the length between your words and her responses growing with every passing minute. You notice a Spanish conversation taking place in the background, no doubt the reason for her decreasing attentiveness.

You’re about to hang up, launching into a polite, “alright girl, I’ll let you go” when she goes back in for more.

“Is he home now?”

She blurts it out, and you're a bit taken aback. Frankly, the urgency of her tone feels a little jarring.

“Um, no,” you answer, uncertain, stretching out your vowels, “I think he went in early today.”

“Good.”

Her clipped tone continues to confuse you. It’s… not playful anymore. It’s administrative.

Commercial.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” a flutter of shrill laughter, “Just wanted to make sure he’s not listening in on our—”

There’s a knock at the door before she can finish. You call out just a sec! automatically, pulling on your rumpled clothes from the night before as the receiver tumbles onto the unmade bed.

It’s only once you’ve lumbered over, wiped the grogginess from your eyes, once you’ve unlocked the door and twisted the handle—it’s only once your head is covered with a thick, scratchy fabric, once the world’s gone dark and a cry of surprise is wrenched from your throat—that you recall Javi’s warning:

Don’t open the door for anyone else.  

Something else takes over. Something primal. Fight, fight, fight. Find the flesh and punish it, scramble for purchase into any detectable, softer areas. Squirm until your legs give out, 'till your knees hit the floor and the beginnings of bruises scatter across your burning skin in a plethora of vulnerable places.

But when you thrash around like that, make sure your head doesn’t hit the doorframe.

Because then? It’s lights out.

—

The first thing you notice is the smell.  

Weed and tobacco. Wet weed and tobacco. It’s not a smell you’re accustomed to (you worked for the DEA, for crying out loud). It makes your already-pounding head spin, so it takes a second before you remember that you’re not safe—you’re not at home, you’re not at Javi’s, and you’re not with Javi.

Instincts kick in. Your stomach aches with fear, lighting you up from the inside, energizing every inch of your body. You wrench, pull, struggle against the restraints suffocating your wrists, binding your hands around the back of a rickety, wooden chair. You can’t kick at anything, either. Your ankles are crossed, squished on top of each other and secured by a firm length of (what you assume to be) rope.

And then the canvas is unceremoniously yanked off of your head, taking a few hairs from your scalp along with it.

You squint, blinking into the dim light, slowly adjusting to your surroundings: some sort of musty basement with concrete walls and floors, decorated by nothing except a couple of small, rectangular windows near the too-high ceilings. It’s completely empty—save for your company.

One, two, three strangers. All men. All Cartel, by the looks of them.

And all positively leering.  

The one nearest you, holding the bag in his hands, speaks down to you. It’s quick and harsh, mocking and cruel. Spanish and unintelligible.

Your hatred towards the captor blinds you; it coaxes the animal out of its cage. You spit: “I don’t speak Spanish, motherfucker.”

(Even if you did, the adrenaline coursing through your veins wouldn’t allow you much room for comprehension).

From the shadows, another man appears. He lumbers over to you, and you notice the peculiarity of his European-looking hat as he squats down to level with you.

He clicks his tongue, dousing you with a look of disapproval. “That’s not very nice, hermosa.”

You shiver. Javi had called you that before, many times. And even though it sounded totally different coming from this foul man’s mouth, shrouded under the veil of a thick, Spanish accent, it sticks.

You hold your tongue, biting it to keep from sobbing. The glint in his eye, visible behind his glasses, moves from playfulness to exasperated ire.

He sighs, stands, and grabs your hair, tilting your head back harshly to look down at you. “You’re very hard to catch, you know that?” He muses, darkness trickling across his features. “But you’re alone now, Americana. No DEA—no Javier Peña to protect you.”

He makes a mockery of his name, oozing cockiness as it comes spitting out of his smirk. You glare up at him, simmering anger and bubbling fear claiming you. Would they go after Javi?

No. They wouldn’t dare.

Only an American like yourself—low-value, replaceable, unnoticeable—was expendable.

“What do you want from me?”

He smiles, releasing your head and taking a step back.

“You’re the assistant, aren’t you?” And that deceptively sweet tone is back, frightening you more than his rage. “We need directions, hermosa. You’ve been in all the government buildings—we know, we watched you. Why don’t you give us some assistance,” he pauses, leaning down towards you, “And tell us where your evidence against Pablo Escobar is filed.”

You snort, unimpressed, shocked, and a little humoured by his little monologue. This was what they were after?

This was why you'd been fearing for your life?

A fucking… map?

“Find someone else. I don’t know shit.”

It’s honestly true. The bastards could not be barking up a more wrong tree. For all their criminal genius, they hadn’t managed to catch the fact that you really, truly didn’t give a flying fuck about the particulars of your job.

But if this was about Escobar—the Pablo Escobar—then these were men from the Medellín cartel. The same Medellín cartel that left scores of expendable bodies in its wake, that bombed, assassinated, and tortured government workers like they were no more than rats in a science lab.

You weren’t the end-all, be-all of this operation.

No, you were just another lead.

A lead that (only you knew) led to jack-all. Unless they were scrambling to learn about the best places to go out dancing or the worst brands of moisturizer, you had very little to offer the thugs.

The one with the strange hat—the ringleader, you decide—shares a smile with his co-conspirators, and you begin to regret the arrogance of your statement.

“There are many ways we can do this,” he warns, voice sloping down to a dangerous hum. “It can be easy…” and he lowers a hand to his belt buckle, setting every cell in your body on fire, “Or hard.”

It‘s a plea to God more than a question for your captor, your desperate, self-pitying: “Why me?” It can't be above a whisper, but the asshole responds anyway.

“It’s more enjoyable when we get to work with something pretty.” A dark laugh. “Who’s going to come looking for you, hermosa? Your family? Your friends? Your… government?” He clicks his tongue again, looking down at you in mock concern. “Like I said, we’ve been watching. You have a habit of disappearing. Running away.”

Figures.

Figures that the reason you’d wound up with your life on the line, your body in danger, was because of you. Once again, it boiled down to the lack of attachments you’d curated over the years, passing from one thing to another, quick on your feet the second they hit solid ground. For God’s sake, the only reason you’d made it this long in Medellín was because it hadn’t managed to bore you yet.

Figures that the closest thing to stability you’d been able to find was in the crime capital of the world. It was poetically honest, laughably ironic.

Of course, the American government would assume you’d fucked off—just another ditzy contractor swept up in the thrill of a south-American life.

The other part held water, too—no one would come looking for you. Your boss might huff about ‘these flighty secretaries, can’t hold ‘em down for anything,’ but beyond that, your disappearance would cause less than a stir.  

Somehow, that thought comforted you. The lack of collateral, the lack of another’s suffering… very little harm would befall the world in the wake of your absence. Peace was beginning to crest upon your settling soul. And, either way, you’d worked in this line of work for long enough to know that your death warrant had been signed the very second they’d seen you as a target.

You give the bastards what they want? You die.

You hold off? You die.

All things considered, you resign yourself, making up your mind.

Still, your defiant voice quivers as you say it.

“Fuck you.”

The ringleader smiles, like a predator cornering its prey, taking that first bite into hard-earned flesh. Your brain responds, screaming warnings in big letters, in flashing red ink. He barks an order to his underlings in Spanish, and the other two men come forward, roughly undoing the holds along your ankles, your wrists.

“Get the fuck off of me!”  

But they don’t listen, yanking you upright and shoving you onto the ground. Your vision becomes hazy. Something takes over, a protective instinct, perhaps, barring you from your own body. Distantly, you observe yourself fighting, but really all you feel is beyond. The words ‘I am not here, this is not happening’ wash over you over and over again, like a cleansing, salt-water wave.

Hands on cement. Clothes torn, destroyed—the cold barrel of a gun to your head, a man barking orders, hitting, slapping—and right as the worst is about to happen, everything just…

Stops.

It’s like they’re spellbound, bugs frozen in amber.

You hear the cause of it well after your torturers do. Footsteps upstairs, and gunshots, screams followed by the definite sounds of a creeping squadron.

The men get messy. Scrambling around, they gather their options. In your dazed periphery, you watch their eyes latch onto one of those open windows, 8 or 9 feet up from the ground.

A hushed conversation ensues. You're familiar enough with the more violent side of the Spanish vocabulary to string together their meaning.

“Shoot her? — no, the noise, they’ll find us faster — kill her? — too long — take her? — too messy — we have to go, we have to go, we have to go.”

Your ruined shirt is shoved down your throat, and then you’re gagging on it, ankles bound once more, shaking and naked on the freezing concrete. The trio uses the little wooden chair to frantically sneak out of the window.

It would be downright comical if you weren’t so terrified.

Soon, you’re alone, choking on cotton and wriggling to flatten your back against the wall. Centuries pass before the movement upstairs graduates to the basement below.

Relief doesn’t grace you. Any man—DEA, cartel, or Colombian police—would likely perform the same violence as your previous captors had planned to. A naked girl, roughed up and completely unprotected, in a dark, hidden basement, totally at their mercy… Shit. You were basically an invitation. A free meal, offered up to a different, hungry crowd.

You just pray that this one might be gentler.

The stairs creak under the certain weight of bodies in motion.

Tears run down the side of your face, dripping down from your temple onto the ground below. You compress into a ball, making yourself as small as possible.

The echoes grow louder, closer and closer. At this point, you just hope they’ll assume you’re an enemy or get trigger-happy and give you a quick taste of lead. Put you out of your misery.

Giving up was well within your comfort zone.

Someone gasps when they see you, and a single name hurtles through the space.

An out-of-commission part of your mind recognizes it—the name—knows it as a comfort. Still, you only tremble, trying to disconnect yourself from what must be a wishful, crafted, deceitful version of reality.

Then someone else comes forward. Your eyes, weary of keeping you in the dark, fling open just in time to watch a tall, dark-haired man push through the crowd of soldiers. You watch his expression—shock to rage, rage to relief, and then rage all over again.

He rushes you, falling to his knees before your wrecked form.

His first move is to wrench the fabric from your mouth. You croak out the most desperate sob of relief, all those stifled, unvoiced expressions of terror tumbling out in great-big-heaves.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

“No.” You respond.

“Did they…?”

“No.”

Javi tears his big doe-eyes, filled with worry, away from yours, twisting to impatiently address the frozen crowd of four or five behind him. “Can somebody take these fuckin’ ties off?”

Switchblades slice through twine. Someone brings you a blanket, and Javi bundles you up in it, gathering you and lifting you in his arms. You don’t resist, clinging around his neck and hiding in the comfort of his shoulder.

“Hermosa—”

You regret the way you flinch. “Please—please don’t call me that anymore.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t ask questions, sounding a little softer, a little more unsure when he presses on, muffling the desperate edge to his tone. “Did you see where they went?”

“The window. Out the window.”

Most of the rest take to that almost immediately, scattering to start on their chase. Javi delivers a set of orders in his native tongue.

Then, he grows silent, carrying you through the house with two soldiers in the lead. “Close your eyes, okay? You don’t wanna see this.” But now that they’re open, you can’t seem to shut them. You only glimpse flashes of the upstairs area. Tables covered in paper, glass contraptions and coke, so much coke, which is almost more impressive than the quantity of blood splattered against the peeling walls.

And Carrie.

Carrie with half her brains hanging out, long, dark, red-soaked hair fanning around her crown like a rotten halo, lounging on the couch, fingers splayed and palms to the sky as if she were ready to wrap them around a glass of white wine—as if she were ready to catch up on girl-talk.

What’s Carrie doing here?

Should I ask her?

She’s dead.  

No, she’s not. She’s right there. She was waiting for me to be done so we could catch up. That’s just how she always sits—it’s just the scoliosis.

That’s why she always showed up so late to the club. She… she couldn’t dance too long because of the scoliosis.

You’re still debating whether or not Carrie would be up for a bit of gossip, another debrief, when big, strong arms lower you into the passenger seat of a Jeep Cherokee.

Javier buckles you in.

“We can’t go to your place—that’s…” and you trail off weakly, throat burning with effort. “That’s where they took me.”

He nods, his face a complete mask of concentration.

But you know him.

He’s holding everything back. You appreciate him for that, never wanting to hear a man shout for the rest of your cursed time on Earth.

“Steve’s, then.”

It’s your turn to nod.

—

Javier drives in complete and total silence, only speaking the occasional clipped sentence into his radio. Despite your vulnerability, despite your overwhelming gratitude, you feel guilty for taking him away from his work, from his team. For forcing him to rescue you once again.

For sure, he’s angry. Would he have to move? Find a new place? Leave all his stuff at the old one? Would a better captive have paid better attention, taken note of the exact direction her kidnappers had taken off in after clearing the window?

Soon, you’re settled against a couch, the light from the opposing window breaking in and dancing across Javi’s face. A blonde woman—fiery, familiar, concerned—hands you a glass of water.

Javi watches you, eyebrows notched together, lips drawn into a thin line as you take a slow sip in silence. The liquid slides down your throat, cooling and soothing the rips and tears there.

And they both won’t stop staring. Truly, their joint study makes you self-conscious, watching on with unapologetic intent as you shiver under the scratchy blanket.

Finally (thankfully), Steve's wife—Connie, you recall—speaks.

“You can go, Javi. I'll take it from here.”

“No.”

She looks borderline offended at his line in the sand.

“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk, Peña.” It’s authoritative, protective, clearly marked with harboured resentment.

She'd make a good mom.

He scoffs. “I’m not gonna make her talk, Connie. Just don’t wanna leave her like... this.”

Connie looks confused. They share a glance, and an eventual understanding passes over her expression. In fact, even in your distressed state, you’re almost certain you catch a hint of a smile.

“Well if you’re both staying, we’ll need food.”

Javi nods absentmindedly, lighting up a smoke. You look away, still feeling the weight of his eyes boring into your ducked head.

She clears her throat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Remember to lock the door, Javi.”

Then, swinging her coat on, she traces an awkward line out of the apartment.

Silence flits across the room. The agent continues to study you from his seat at the counter across the room.

“Are you okay?”

You pick at your nails, internally asking yourself the same question.

“I’m just glad you were there,” you muster up, looking up at his softened, warm gaze. Concern etches a couple of fresh lines on his face.

Javi nods, taking a long drag. “Always, sweetheart. I’m glad I was there, too.”

You shiver at the thought of what could have happened if he and his team had showed up just a few minutes later. What shape he would have found you in, or if you’d ever permit yourself to feel the touch of a man again. Of anyone again.

“Why were you there?”

The question comes out of nowhere, bursting out the moment you realize that you hadn’t yet bothered to ask him how he’d pulled off yet another well-timed rescue.

It couldn’t have been in answer to your prayers—those had never worked for you before.

“Carillo’s been following Escobar’s cousin for a while. Zeroed in on the neighbourhood, but we spent all morning doing searches. Honestly,” he breaks off for a moment, rubbing at his temples, “It was just damn luck that we found you when we did. Wish I could say it wasn't, but it was. We were gettin’ ready to call it off. I had… no idea you weren’t at home.”

He blames himself for it. You can tell. In turn, you blame yourself for that—for his misguided, self-inflicted anger.

There’s more left unsaid.

“My friend—I called her this morning. From your place. She was there. She was… dead. I think.”

Javi doesn’t react, evidence of the years of gore, wreckage, and betrayal he'd witnessed.

You swallow, soldiering on.

“I told her. I told her where I was. Could she… could she have told them?”

Is she the reason this happened to me?

Slowly, lips pressed around his cigarette, Javi nods. “I’m sorry,” he barely mumbles.

Strangely enough, you’re not. That’s what you say: “I’m not.” And it’s true. “She was upstairs when it was all happening. I’m glad she’s dead.”

Now, he looks at you with a consideration that swells into a kind of respect. Not a respect, no not respect. A knowing. A new kind of understanding, of equal footing.

You meet him head-on with it, basking in your retribution, revelling in the immediate justice she'd been served. You’d mourn the person you thought she was when your wounds weren’t so open, so fresh.

"They wanted directions, Javi," you suddenly blurt out, voice hoarse, "Isn't that insane? They were gonna... they were gonna do that for directions. Not even the evidence, just fucking directions-"

Javi lifts his hands in the air, signalling for you to slow down. Normally, it would make you want to tear his arrogant head off. Now, however, you just do, although the silence isn't very comforting. After a moment, you can tell there's something Javi’s been avoiding, something he’s holding in. The agent clears his throat, finally calling it quits on his tiptoe-ing around the subject.

“Cariño," he begins, "I know you told me earlier, but I... I gotta be sure. Did they hurt you in… any way?”

God, he sounds so deeply wary, unable even to speak his fear into existence. You shake your head no, prompting his shoulders to relax.

“Okay. Good,” he breathes, crossing his arms and looking down at the rug. “Don’t think I could…”

Panic ripples through your frame.

'Doesn’t think he could' what? Bear to look at me, knowing the enemy had been where he’d been, done what he’d done? Touch me in the same grooves they'd left on my skin? Javi’s not that kind of man—is he?

“Don’t think I could forgive myself if anything were to happen to you under my watch.”

The rush of anxiety quickly dissipates, replaced by a stifling bloom of admiration and adoration across your chest. Like soft tendrils, warming your shivering body from within.

You smile self-consciously, scoff, and meet his eyes. “I wasn’t ‘under your watch,’ Javi. I opened the door. It was my fault.”

He raises his eyebrows, huffing a breath before ashing his dart, rising, carving a path towards the couch-cushion next to you and taking your glass of water from between your hands. It clinks as he sets it on the table. Taking your unsteady hands between his hardened palms, he coaxes you into meeting his golden eyes.

“It’s not your fault, herm—” a pause as he corrects himself, noticing your flinch, “—cariño. It’s not your fault.”

He waits for your nod of acknowledgement before pulling you into his arms. You let yourself go limp, dragged into the plushness of the couch and the firmness of his chest.

He lays a kiss to your forehead. He fidgets with your hair. He traces long, lazy lines up and down your spine.

How had you gone from that youthful giddiness this morning to this dark, anxious wreck in a matter of hours? It wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

The comfort your agent provides is good—will always be good—but you want more. Every inch of attention he gives you is just another step away from that cold basement, a foot towards freedom.

Time heals all wounds, and you want a distraction while you face those excruciating seconds. Something to move it along. Something to keep you busy, to keep the harrowing images at bay.

So you tilt your head up. Finding his lips, you press into him, shuddering when the rough hairs of his mustache tickle your top lip. When your body asks for more, when your tongue meets his and your hand drops to his thigh, Javi tenses, pulling back and breaking off the kiss.

“Sweetheart—you’re not in a good place,” he whispers, lovingly running his fingers through your hair.

You look up at him with eyes full of need, wordlessly begging him to give in. “I am now,” you assure him, tossing a leg over his hips and straddling his body. His expression darkens as you slowly chip away at his resolve, one touch at a time. “I’m with you.”

He smiles, plucking your hands from his chest. Every kiss he lays to your knuckles sends a ripple of electricity up and down your spine. “That right?” He muses between embraces. “That all you need?”

You nod, the pace of your shallow breaths picking up in anticipation. “When you touch me, Javi, it’s like you’re cleaning them off me,” you croon, leaning forward to brush your lips against his jaw.

“You’re in shock, baby,” but his hands defy his words, slipping down to circle your waist, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Slowly, deliberately, you lean back to stare directly into his heavy-lidded eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

You feel him tense at that, his body hardening alongside the weight building underneath your thigh. He lets you go on, deft hands pooling onto your hips.

“Get rid of them for me,” you plead, grinding down onto his bulge.

“Make me all yours again.”  

That does it.

His hands shoot up to your face, firmly cupping your cheeks between their heat. Then, Javi’s kissing you harder than before, warming your desire up to a feverish level. You moan into him, turning to putty in his grasp.

He peppers kisses down your jaw and up your neck, allowing you to clumsily untuck his shirt and undo his belt. It’s frantic and needy—it’s pure business. You free his length from the confines of his clothes, heavy breaths mingling when you look down in tandem, hungrily watching your small, delicate hand pumping up and down his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, his dark crown of cropped curls falling back against the couch, “You make it fuckin’ hard to be a good guy.”

You smile, spreading the slick dribbling at his tip around the head of his cock.

God, the sight of him never gets old.

“Good guys listen, Javi,” you tease, managing to pull off an air of sultriness, “Not just to no—also to yes.”

A lazy, roguish grin spreads across his face. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” and he knocks a squeal out of you when he cages you in his arms, flipping you over ‘till your back’s digging shapes into the worn-in cushions below. “Gettin’ mouthy already.”

You giggle up at him, but all of your noises dwindle when a few rough fingers push your torn, ruined underwear to the side. You grow especially wordless when one separates your folds and makes its way inside you.

Javi gives you his signature look of condescension, of mock pity.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He taunts, thumbing that aching bundle of nerves. “All the ways I’ve had my dick in you, just this—” he makes a point to curl his fingers towards himself, pressing against the most desire-stricken spot, “—‘n you can’t find your words?”

Your throat won’t open, choking around your own pleasure. Instead, you nod with enthusiasm, desperately clinging onto his forearm. “More.”

He quickly accedes, pushing another long and thick finger inside you. You shudder at the perfect sting—the stretch—as your opening hugs his knuckles. Javi mutters curses to himself, angry and lustful, supervising your writhing form.

“No one else gets to see you like this.” He speaks low, sitting up to work you with both hands. Your body responds without your permission; Javi clicks his tongue and shoves you back down when your hips buck up. “Don’t deserve it,” he continues voicing his thought as if no interruption had occurred, “I’d have to track ‘em down and kill ‘em.”

His tone goes beyond protectiveness, easily veering into the realm of the possessive. “I-I wouldn’t be good f-for them, Javi,” you manage, wanting to comfort him, to calm him, “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh,” he smirks down at you, finally pulling his fingers from your soaked, ready cunt. “Like you listen to me?”

You spread your legs for him, shimmying down until he’s hovering right above you. He strokes himself, taking you in with hunger, playfulness and… something else.

Something like devotion.

A smile. You stroke his jaw. “You come harder when I misbehave.”

He shrugs and nods, a silent, ‘you got me there,' before lining himself up at your entrance.

You whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound, when the head of his cock finds your opening. “Then make sure to misbehave.”  

He rocks inside you, taking note of the way your jaw goes slack, hanging open, and the way your brow furrows, grateful eyes glazing over, showing high praise for that feeling of fullness.  

And he laughs to himself.

“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he coos, settling into a comfortable rhythm. “Beggin’ for cock after bein’ kidnapped. I shouldn’t be feedin' into your crazy, cariño.”

It is crazy. But you don’t care, giggling along to his taunt.

“Just makes me feel so-so good, Javi,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” He coaxes, sitting back to tower over you, pressing your thighs to your calves; the new angle has bliss rippling through your centre, your back arching involuntarily. “What feels good?”

He shoves your hips down, lowering a finger back to your clit.

“Oh—God—y-yourcock—” he nods approvingly at you, beckoning you to go on, “your—your fingers, too.”

He slows his pace, pulling out fully before slamming back inside you.

“Look at it, cariño,” Javi instructs, steadying your hips once more. “Watch me fuck your pretty lil’ pussy.”

You struggle onto your elbows and obey, mouth slack and perpetually open. Pressure builds at your core as you watch every inch of his hard, dark length disappear, over and over, inside the shelter of your body. It’s so dirty, and somehow the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“M-made for you, Javi.”

And he moans, an animalistic sound you’d never heard from him before.

“S’right, baby, made just for me.” He flattens his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Can you come for me now?”

You nod, grateful for his permission as soon as you start to feel your thighs shake. The tension snaps within you, and you tumble over the edge of your climax with a high pitched whine.

“Good girl,” he praises, low, deep, and bristling with pleasure, “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You ride it out. Javi shows no mercy, squeezing your waist and bouncing your lower half against him. His biceps and shoulders strain against his shirt, the sight making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After having him a few times, you were well aware of his impressive stamina—Javi wasn’t going to finish without giving you another one. Nonetheless, the overwhelming pleasure has you squirming away from his unrelenting grasp.

He pulls you back against him, steadying you between two forceful hands.

And he fucks you harder.  

“Still remember them, querida? ” He breathes.

You find your voice, using great effort to stammer out a “y-yes."

It's not the correct answer.

Javi growls, “Then I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

His shirt grazes the insides of your thighs, and you're certain that every part of his form is working to set your skin on fire. A skilled hand wraps around your jaw, and Javi leans over you, lowering his lips to latch around a hard, peaked nipple.

Your whimpers do nothing to stop him. He just keeps rhythmically rocking into you, the head of his cock reaching impossible, beckoning depths.

An almost-sob wracks your lungs. “S’a lot, huh? Takin’ all this cock inside you…” Javi shushes you with feigned sympathy, nipping and suckling at the softest spots at his disposal. “S’okay, baby, s’okay.”

Then he makes his way to your lips, forces you to kiss him—deeply—as your lungs scream for oxygen. He locks your hands above your head in just one of his own, the pressure of his weight the only thing keeping your squirming limbs in place.

And then his mouth is sliding down your jaw, his breaths hot and heavy next to your ear.

“Fuck—can feel you gettin’ close, sweetheart, gonna come again?”

All you can do is nod.

He rolls into you—hard and deep—forcing tears to pull from the outer corners of your eyes.

“S-so good to me,” you manage, seeing pure white as your third orgasm of the day blooms from between your seizing legs.

He groans, freeing your hands (which immediately find stability in the firmness of his shoulders) to clumsily wipe the tears from under one dazed eye. Above you, he resembles a hungry, lustful angel, eyes darkened with unbridled need, affection, approval.  

“‘M’good to what’s mine, baby,” he whispers, pulling you into the crook of his neck as he chases both your highs. “Come, cariño—s’right, come for me.”

And you do, aching, ruined cunt squeezing and releasing, fluttering around Javi. He moans a downright sinful ‘fuck’ at the sensation, reaching his own peak almost in tandem with yours.

Only once his every last drop is spent, once his groan and your whines have stopped echoing around the unfamiliar, open space, does he pull back from your neck.

And when he looks at you… God. There’s something you’re both not saying.

“Only wanna see you cry like this, baby,” he tells you, laying a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Never gonna let them—let anyone—lay a finger on you again.”

Your breath hitches, the words thick and sticky in your throat. The both of you are dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. “I’m… I’m glad we met. That you—that we’re doing this.”

He raises his eyebrows, crooning a soft ‘yeah?’ as he pushes your hair from your face.

You nod. “You make all of it worth it.”

He’s appreciative when leaning in for a kiss, slipping out of you and groaning against your lips. You tangle your fingers in his damp hair, leaning up into him with every aching muscle in your body, wanting nothing more than to become a part of his whole. When he pulls away, it's only to tuck his softening length back into his briefs. He focusses on you again, leaning over to affectionately stroke your knee.

“Is it just sex for you?”

His question comes as a bit of a surprise—you’d never heard him speak so openly, so innocent and vulnerable.

You cup his face. Despite the fact that he looks like the men from earlier, carries the same guns and ammo, knows what they know, even speaks their language, he’s never seemed so separate from them, an entirely different species.

“No—at first, maybe, but now… No. Not for me.”

He eases into a soft smile, wrapping you back into your blanket before laying back, manhandling you to rest against his still-unsteady chest.

Those masterful hands comfort you in a million different ways. He plays with your hair and traces the highest points of your cheekbone. He massages your knuckles, pulls you in for little kisses, dips into the curve of your waist.

“How about you?” The question is small, even though you anticipate the answer.

He takes a second before answering. When he does, his voice is low, quiet.

“Not at all, sweetheart.” He tilts your head up, his soft, caring gaze probing into every corner of your own. “Honestly, I think it’s been more than that since the first time you said ‘go fuck yourself, Peña.’” He whistles under his breath, exaggerating his approval. “Shit was hot.”

It makes you laugh, but it's also enough to make your heart soar. Settling in to the nook of his neck, you breathe in his familiar, earthly scent, until the exhaustion of the day eventually weighs on you.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, entertained by the fact that while you really should be a wreck, you feel perfectly at ease, wrapped in the arms of your favourite DEA agent. In fact, you can hardly remember what your kidnappers looked like—or sounded like, for that matter—succumbing to slumber, you only think of him.

—

Less than three hectic, hazy days later, you’re pulling a suitcase through the Medellín international airport. There was no sense risking it anymore—you'd have to be transferred to the States until the assholes were caught. Ambassador's orders.

Javi flanks your side, eyes peeled for any abnormalities in your surroundings.

Your heart breaks with every step you take. He comes all the way to the gate without saying a word, merely holding onto one of your bags (that he'd insisted he carry) in a white-knuckled fist.

You’re running behind. There’s not much time.

He doesn’t say he’ll call—knows he’s not that kind of man. You don’t say you’ll visit. You don’t say you’ll write.

No, all you do is lean up on your tippy toes to plant a tender, lingering kiss to his cheek. He returns the favour by cupping your face, leaning down and kissing you intently.

Too intently—as if he were memorizing the grooves in your lips.

Well, that’s what you’re doing, anyways.

Over the loudspeaker, your name is called.

“They’re paging you,” Javi translates, his breath hitting your top lip.

You pull away, doing your best not to cry.

“Thank you.”

It’s all you say—it’s all that needs to be said, really.

Thank you for showing me I matter. Thank you for teaching me patience. Thank you for saving my life three times. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for making me wait for it. Thank you for giving me a reason to miss this place.  

Thank you for loving me. I think that's what this is.

He hears it all, stuffed and contained, overflowing from the two uttered words.

Then he smiles, that well-trained, protective cockiness spreading across his face.

“You’re welcome, cariño.”

You scoff a laugh, slowly dropping his hand and turning towards your gate.

“If I ever visit home…” he calls after you.

You pause, smiling down at the glistening floor, shaking your head. “You’ll never catch me in Texas, Peña,” you call across the traffic of rushing families and over-packed suitcases. He smiles knowingly, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. “Just lock the fuckers up so I can visit. The weather sucks back home.”

You slowly walk backwards towards the exit, ignoring a few flight-attendant-glares, not daring to break off the playful eye contact linking you to your agent.

“I’ll do it just for you, baby,” he calls, grinning like a fool.

Strange. You’d never noticed how the teasing, that snarky back and forth you’d developed together seemed to put him at ease—to relax him. All that time he'd spent, driving you to the brink of insanity... it comforted him.

And that realization was enough to make you beam.

You commit that final glimpse to memory. Javi—smiling, calm, alive, yours. It was rare enough that you felt sure it would stick.

When you finally turn to face the gate, to face your future, you don’t feel like crying anymore.

It was enough just to have met him.

Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same.

—

All my friends tell me I should move on

I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song

Ahh

That's how you sang it

Loving you forever can't be wrong

Even though you're not here, won't move on

Ahh

That's how we played it

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

All my friends ask me why I stay strong

Tell 'em when you find true love, it lives on

Ahh

That's why I stay here

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

There's no relief, I see you in my sleep

And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me

There's no release, I feel you in my dreams

Telling me I'm fine

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

—

TAGLIST WILL BE CONTINUED IN REBLOG.

Strike-through means I cannot tag.

TAGLIST:

@millllenniawrites @theicypiscean @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbees @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @caravelofthesun @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @buckysmainhxe @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @queer-poncho @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @expir3dl0v3 @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @dzaga890 @killerrxger @ayehomo @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @Eggnox07 @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @julesonrecord @bbyanarchist @stxrgvsm @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @princessdjarin @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @ophealiadrowning @kamcrazy123 @milly-louise @djarinsgirl @cowboychickenlittle

[celestialspritz]

🐠1000 FOLLOWERS GIFT - PART ONE🐠

two different shitty previews in totally different styles.... well anyways, here's my first part of my 1k followers gift! thank u all so much 🥺swatches will b under the cut as usual. from left 2 right...

no. 1 - edits of these tracksuits by oskarone on modishkitten's mesh :D these are perfect if u love tacky, skintight early 2000s cc and bright colours. i recoloured in some of my personal colours + added the glittery juicy text to the top and butt hfghdfgh. mesh is 2k polygons. oh! and i included a psd for anyone who wants to mess around with it. update 16/01/2024: @letomills has redux'd the mesh, added morphs, ages, new bones, shoes and much more here!! :D

no. 2 - jellypaws lover earrings 4t2! eight colours, yf-ef only. 1k polys from like... 10k, was it? 💀

no. 3 - suzue's cyfi glasses, i mean i wouldn't call them glasses but yeah they're 3.7k polys for yu-eu. comes in ten of the original swatches and nine of my own colours (ft. two rainbow ones, one pastel one bright hehe)

and finally, no. 4 - lol my ass finally converted a top (oversized polo from this set) and didn't cry over it. has been tested by @knowledgetoken (TYSM!!), in 15 swatches, 2.6k polygons and for adult male only.

enjoy! hopefully i still have enough energy to post the next parts, i have 27 pieces of cc left to post!

TRACKSUITS / EARRINGS / CYFI GLASSES / OVERSIZED POLO

credits - oskarone_67, jellypaws, suzue on tsr, softerhaze, knowledgetoken for testing

[murfeelee]

Aquatic INSP Set Pt1 (Objects)

🥳 It's my birthday and I'll sim if I want to! 🥳

This set includes 11 recolorable Buy Mode objects directly inspired by an IWTV Mermaid AU I'll be posting gameplay for next month.

EA Kelp as Edible Raw Meat for Vampires (Nona Dried Food Mod REQUIRED)

Severinka Hippocampus as IP EP Jetski (IP EP REQUIRED)

TheVintageSim Fringe Hammock REDONE (Functional Loveseat)

Pocci Ceiling Lamp Jellyfish 01 & 02 REDONE (Stringless)

Pocci Jellyfish as Teddy Bear

Venus Girdle Inspired Table Light

Wall Mosaics 1x5

Ivy as Ceiling Light

Simszoo Tree REDONE (RECOLORABLE as Outdoor Light)

Pocci Sakura Vase REDONE (Translucent)

Enjoy!

Download (package files): Mediafire | SimFileShare

Descriptions & preview pics under the cut:

EA Kelp as Edible Raw Meat for Vampires (Nona Dried Food Mod REQUIRED)

If you use the Nraas Hybrid mod to make mermaid-vampire sims, it's a headache getting them to eat a effing thing that's not plasma-based. So I took EA's Kelp mesh and slapped Nona's script on it, to make it "raw food" that can fill a vampire's Thirst need. (I HIGHLY recommend also using Nona's other raw foods--there's a nice juicy fish vamps can eat, which I used in my IWTV post here.)

Severinka Hippocampus as IP EP Jetski (IP EP REQUIRED)

(The harness mesh was shamelessly ripped/reshaped from Mermaidia's Seahorse Taxi. I didn't place the handles as well as I probably should have, but oh frikkin well.) I was too lazy to make this fully recolorable (you can kinda sorta recolor it, since I put the textures in the Multiplier not the Overlay)--but it does come in 4 color variations:

TheVintageSim Fringe Hammock REDONE (Functional Loveseat)

I've been wanting this decor hammock as a functional loveseat for frikkin ever. This gameplay gave me the perfect excuse to bite the bullet and make it. The mesh is rescaled to fit EA loveseats. Fully recolorable, comes in multiple variations, like the original.

Pocci's Jellyfish

I was so jealous that Pocci remade their TS3 Jellyfish ceiling lights for TS4 without the obnoxious strings dangling from the ceiling, so I went and made their Jellyfish 01 & 02 stringless myself. Then I made the Jellyfish as a Teddy Bear. The clipping & joints aren't great, but it works and I'm tired.

Venus Girdle Inspired Table Light

It's amazing, the kind of IRL deep-sea critters you learn about, just by reading mermaid fanfiction.

Wall Mosaics 1x5

They come in a bunch of variations. Two are based on IRL portions of the Madaba Map, for no good reason, other than I just needed a medievalesque mosaic map #ForReasons.

Ivy as Ceiling Light

I made sure there were no backfaces on the ivy mesh, so you could still see inside the lot from a bird's eye view. (I used these with the TW3 Bulb Lights I converted here.)

Simszoo Tree REDONE (RECOLORABLE as Outdoor Light)

I made this tree recolorable and an outfoor light--I wish I knew how to make only the leaves glowe, not the whole frikkin trunk. Ah well.

Pocci Sakura Vase REDONE (Translucent)

All I did was change the texture of the flowers so they were crystal/see-through.

And that's that!

______________________________________________________

Enjoy!

Download (package files): Mediafire | SimFileShare

[miimo96]

Thoughts on My Adventures with Superman S2 FINALE

This has me kinda scared because Normally when this happens, it usually means 2 thing's; 1 this is either going to be Very long episode or 2, Somebody's going to die, and with the way the creator's have been teasing us with Tweets about Kara's demise, I'm guessing it's the ladder, and if that's the case WTF DC

Also if had a nickel for everytime that a Giant spaceship threatened to Destroy Earth as a way to Rebuild krypton in a Superman story, I'd have 2 nickels, which isn't alot, but it's weird that it's happened twice

So lemme get this straight, this Lex is smart enough to build the parasite suit, have a fail safe for that, is able to frame Superman gaining Millions of followers and government access, infuse Kryptonite to Kryptonian built robots, but isn't smart enough to come up with a fail safe when said robots get hacked!?....yeah I call Bullshit

Hell yeah the Cavalry's here! oh, and Sam too I guess whatever, listen the FANS might've forgiven your ass for abandoning lois 6 episodes ago, but I sure as hell don't, in all seriousnes tho I am glad he got some sort of character development regarding his relationship with Superman, seeing it as how he is now trying to help him instead of ya know, Trying to Kill him 😅 btw I kinda feel stupid for asking myself how the heck they turned invisible, only to realize they were actually holding on to Only the character who Can turn invisible Lol 😅😅 also did anyone else immediately thought've Lobo when he said the Main man, no, just me

Wow I can't belive they actually gave Kara the Winter soldier treatment, from the brainwashing, Down to him effing reactivating it like freakin Zemo, Well looks like Clark's gonna have to fight his cousin again, hopefully he doesn't end up like last time, or if not maybe Jimmy can talk some sense into her, Seeing as how it was seeing a picture of Jimmy which resulted in her breaking free from Brainiacs control, maybe this where he can finally confesses his feelings for her, Omg I would love that ^w^

Wait you're telling me Brainiac Did it, that he's the reason why krypton exploded, that HE Killed clarks and Kara's parents!? Oh nah Brainiac gotta die now, also has anyone else how similar he is to Zod, from his reasoning, to his personality, to even this whole effing scenario, like This is some shit Zod would've done, and it's funny because I was actually thinking about this not to long ago about how we technically don't need Zod in this show because Brainiac fits that role perfectly, especially with how he's been depicted this season, Omg if this was an intentional Detail on their part, then it's official, this show never ceases to Amaze me

Uh oh scary Kara's back, Damn it Brainiac why you gotta be such a Bitch; Also it may be nothing, but the way those missiles were moving kinda reminded of the way Darksides Omega beams would move, which got me thinking about something; What if Kryptons technology is possibly made from Apocalypse

This shot is ABSOLUTELY Beautiful; from the colors, to the camera work, to even the Symbolism between him and the Sun, everything was just Screams Superman

Tbh out of all the anime tropes they've done this season, I gotta say Talk no jutsu the 1 was NOT expecting them pull, and ya know what, I'm actually kinda glad they did, because it just fits Superman's MO; Superman has always been represented for kindness not his strength, like even if you've done him dirty, he'll still always choose to help you because that's just who he is, hes the person who just wants to help, he'll carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, he's the person who will try to stop a threat with his words before having to result to violence, he's the Man of Steel not because of what he can do, but because of who he is and always will be, hence why this trope works perfectly for him, it's the Perfect representation of what he embodies, Compassion, That's what makes him Superman

Ok I have a few things regarding this scene, 1st off i Absolutely love my 2 star children, 2nd of all Kara don't throw him into the sun, that's how make Nuclear man 😂 3rd of all, in all honesty, I was not worried 1 bit when Kara got shot mainly for 2 reasons; 1 even tho she was clearly shot by Kryptonite, they were directly near the sun and if I remember correctly, the Sun is what gives them their power, granting them the abilities to heal from critical wounds as well as even more strength, and because 2, kryptonians have invulnerable skin meaning she won't burn up from the sun even if she falls into it, all in all touching scene but No stakes

Kara's lighting's, Kryptonite Saber, Clean animation, Super sayian references!? OMG this episode is AMAZINGGG!! Also Kara's lighting's Red!? Ngl but I SWEAR I thought it was gonna be yellow, not because it would only go good with her hair, but because it in my opinion, it just fits her better, plus we did see kinda of it Start to spark in her fight against Brainiac 2 episodes ago, and since Clark's is blue it would only just made sense for hers to be yellow, hopefully maybe it can like evolve in season 3 or something, don't get wrong I like the Red but in my opinion, it just feels like a missed opportunity, In other News

Eff yeah Brainiac's Dead! Be honest, how many of you actually thought kara was dead after that scene, because my heart immediately stopped after she passed out 😅

Also can we talk about how Amazing Kara's suit looks, like Omg this Has to be one of the best desings I've seen, I just love everything about it from the colors to the boots all the way to especially the Cape, like I just love how it looks like a scarf UwU

AH siblings being siblings 😊 btw Love how he still has the shirt from when he was kid, Such a full circle moment, also when it comes to Kara's, this Kara, the kara from injustice 2, the CW show and even The FLASH movie are All of my favorite Kara's, every single one of them EXPECT and I can't believe I'm saying this, the 1 from the DCAU, like I'm sorry but in my opinion she was just too much of a hot head, and she barely had any screen time in Justice league, like I don't understand how did we stray so far from God, also she was incredibly weaker when it came to her cousin, this 1 on the other hand can slap her cousin around like it was a normal Tuesday, So yeah that's my Hot take come at me In the comments I dare you

Well well well looks like instead of mommy dosen't need you anymore, it's more like We don't need Mommy anymore, hell yeah Lex's finally going to be the Villain next season and I soo can't wait, oh and what's this, it looks like slade is gonna be his right hand now, oh yeah Slex is Definitely becoming cannon

🎵 Super rizz, Super rizz, here comes Clark's Super rizz 🎵

And with that another amazing end to another amazing series, Overall this season was freakin Epic, from the animation, to the music, to the character designs minus the robots, everything was just epic, from Start to finish; only thing to do Now is wait for season 3, but I wanna know you're thoughts, What did YOU think of season 2, and what was your favorite episode or moment from this series, comment or just leave a like if ya enjoyed this Thoughts on series, and lemme know if I should do more of this, Anyway I'mma head out because this took a while for me to write and I'm feeling kinda burnt out, Anyway yeah thank you for reading and I can't wait to see you again in S3, and with that, Superman Saturday's has come to an end, well, for now anyway ^^;

[turtlesandalpacas]

So I finally watched Hazbin Hotel

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS

Can we have a second season like YESTERDAY?

I'm a theater kid so OF COURSE I'm stanning all the songs. We need more unapologetically musical series.

More than anything is my FAVE I mean THE FEELS? Ffs. I'm literally crying.

Lucifer being a socially awkward cinnamon roll and also wholesome dad and also overpowered bamf!? THIS IS CINEMA.

Charlie is such a lovely character. Also she's my baby and I've known her for 24 hours but if anything happened to her I'd kill everyone and then myself.

Lucifer and Alastor's rivalry over Charlie? I mean I cackle every time I replay Hell's Greatest Dad. Perfect. Flawless.

Emily, Vaggie, and Lucifer are apparently the only angels who behave like angels and they're getting shit for it.

I wish we'd seen more of Emily this first season, hopefully she'll be more present in s2

The fact that Adam believed he could 1v THE LITERAL DEVIL HIMSELF sums up basic white guy self-esteem. Also Lucifer stole both of his wives? WILD.

I'm all for Vaggie sparing Lute so she'd have to live with it. That said, I'd also be all for Vaggie cutting the asshole's fucking head. So, yeah.

Vaggie and Charlie are sooooo good??? My babies omggggg

Also Lucifer 'oh you like women? So do I we have so much in common' I CAN'T

I'd say Lucifer is the og ally but tbh I'm not convinced he's not one of them queers as well. Who are we kidding? He probably nailed Adam as well. He did it. He conquered Eden. With his dick. That's my headcannon. Idc.

Alastor's effing creepy. I stan.

What's the deal with lilith?????

Angel Dust's episode broke my heart.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Thoughts on this scenario?: Alucard sometime before s3 or during s3 meeting Trevor's older sister (neither of them are aware they have a sibling who survived the massacre) after she show up at the castle knocking on his door with her knife like "WHY is Dracula's castle on top of my family's ruins?!" I think it would be very interesting for both of them. (Especially once Alucard tells her that her little brother is alive.)

A/N: Lol, this is effing hilarious! I can totally just see Alucard watching this woman come out of nowhere and start throwing cheap shot punches and being like: “There’s ANOTHER Belmont??” 

Alucard Meeting Trevor’s Older Sister Headcannons 

So she shows up to what she expected to be nothing more than a pile of ruins only to find said pile of ruins plus a giant ass castle next door. Which makes no sense because 1) Why not repair the Belmont home if someone was going to build something there? And 2) Why choose to make a big ugly-ass castle of all things? 

On the inside, she’s like: ‘Has it really been THAT long?’ (Maybe, lol.) 

Once the initial shock subsided, she’s like, ‘Okay, this thing’s gotta go’ because again, it’s ugly af, and it can’t be good for the open-earthed Belmont Hold to be responsible for supporting all that weight. 

So she goes to the door and starts banging on it like she owns the place. 

Of course, the doors swing open revealing a very disgruntled Alucard. 

Commence the interrogation.

She’s all like: ‘Who the fuck are you?’ 

And he’s like, ‘Um, excuse me, I live here, who the hell are you?’

And she’s like, ‘Well I lived here first!’ 

And Alucard’s like, ‘That’s a very immature argument.’ 

And she’s all like, ‘Oh yeah? You wanna go pip-squeak?’ 

And Alucard’s like ‘I’m literally a foot taller than you.’ 

And she’s like ‘Well fine, that makes you the perfect height for me to do this!’ And she knees him in the groin. 

…

…

Suddenly it clicks for Alucard. “Are you by any chance a Belmont?”

“Yeah, what’s it to ya?” 

Needless to say, the two of them are quite shocked to learn the identity of the other. She’s half in denial that her little brother, if he really is alive, would be friends with a dhampir. And Alucard’s not sure she is Trevor’s sister once they get to talking, mainly because she’s well-spoken and rather intelligent when not she’s not threatening to kick his ass, something Trevor is not. 

But from his descriptions of their battle with Dracula, her gut tells her it really must be her brother Alucard’s speaking of. 

“I take it you didn’t know he was alive, then,” Alucard says. 

She's like, yeah, no shit. 

But she still has a lot of unanswered questions: how did Trevor manage to escape? How did he survive being so young on his own? Why didn’t she hear of his existence until now? 

Alucard doesn’t have all the answers, but he does have good food and wine, so she decides to crash in the castle with him until her brother returns. 

It’s good for Alucard to have the company, mainly because he was starting to lose his mind. (Something she would pick up on like right away lol.) 

But that’s okay because almost being murdered as a kid and then running from place to place fighting the odd supernatural creature has made her a bit crazy so they’re a decent pair. 

Oddly enough, I think they sort of mellow each other out: she’s just hyper/nuts enough to get Alucard to stop wallowing in self-pity. And he’s just cautious and introverted enough to keep her from accidentally (ahem*intentionally*) burning the place down. 

Sure, there’s a lot of ribbing, and witty jokes thrown back and forth between the two of them, but they’d probably form a strong bond based on mutual respect and necessity. Alucard realizes his mental and emotional state will improve if she stays, and she realizes her chances of fulfilling her destiny as a Belmont increase tenfold should she stay and learn from the ‘enemy’ himself. 

Of course, it takes a while for them to overcome their residual prejudices of one another, especially on Belmont’s side. She’s spent her entire life viewing vampires as monsters- something to be eradicated- it’s not exactly something you can unlearn overnight. But Alucard is such an enigma, and the more she hears of his and Trevor’s travels and adventures in defeating Dracula, the more she sees him as human- the more she sees him as a friend, even. 

They get very close. So close that they even think up ways to prank Trevor once he comes back, planning especially to use her existence as the central super-charged element of surprise. 

Who knows, maybe if she was there with Alucard post-S2, things would have turned out more positively with the twins' arrival in S3. If Alucard wasn’t so dependent on them and them alone for companionship, he wouldn’t have been so hesitant to quickly teach them everything they wanted to know as a way to keep them at his castle longer. If Alucard was more open and forthcoming, the twins might have felt encouraged to put all their own cards on the table before making the drastic (and fatal) move that they did. 

Thanks to her existence, any monsters nearby stand no chance against the occupants of the castle and the surrounding villages. With the newfound double-trouble Belmonts, no one ever has to be scared (or lonely) ever again. 

[cupcakeslushie]

Hey!! So my asks don't seem to be sending so I hope this one does

I am obsessed with you AU!! I have so many ideas

At one point you mentioned that Three/Donnie can't lie and is usually brutally blunt. But can he DECIEVE? I can imagine him at the beginning of his arrival trying tricking April to go with him to the lab (probably to disect her or such, stupid humans) with a facade that he's fine with humans and just wants to play, and were it not for Raph warning her beforehand about Donnie's hate for humans she would've bought it. Could this happen or am I reading too much into it?

Sorry guys, I’m so behind on asks so I’ll be doing a bunch in batches tonight!

Pretty much none of them are good at lying. Leo can ACT if it’s for a mission and fib about small things but hates lying in general. Raph can stammer his way through a poor excuse to Splinter’s face, and when it comes to flat out keeping secrets Mikey is just horrible….BUT Mikey is more the type to be the little devious emotional manipulator, just from learning from Big Mama how to work people. Thankfully he uses this particular talent to be helpful (for the most part—sometimes he uses it to get the last slice of pizza and claims little brother rights).

Now for Donnie, it just doesn’t even occur to him to do anything but tell it like it is. Also he doesn’t have much interest in April apart from getting into petty arguments—he mostly ignores her until they find enough common ground that they can carry on a convo without devolving into children. He will always ask if he wants to test something out on his brothers. This is one of the bigger differences between him and canon—Sometimes though, he will think that something is mild, but then judging by their horrified expressions he supposes it’s just one of those times where his baseline for what’s normal is effed up. His biggest issue is testing things on HIMSELF without a care to thinking it through. To be honest the idea of testing things on his brothers or even April, without their permission makes him pretty nauseous, despite one side of his brain telling him that it won’t do any harm just to try, and the other screaming that he doesn’t want to be anything like Draxum.

I’ll reveal more soon, about how Draxum has actually cut a deal with Big Mama. They’re both okay biding their time, so Draxum isn’t in too much of a rush to collect Mikey. In Draxum’s mind, the Battle Nexus is the perfect place for him to evolve his skills. Now that doesn’t mean he’s completely happy with leaving Four in Big Mama’s hands, so Draxum creates a way to remain informed, and Big Mama is fine to take him up on it—just another variable she’s hoping to eventually manipulate in her favor…

This doesn’t stop Draxum from hanging the threat of collecting Mikey over Three’s head if he doesn’t behave.

BUT if we’re talking hypotheticals and if he did end up collecting Mikey, I think Donnie would become the ultimate overprotective brother. Any time Draxum would need a test subject, Donnie would offer himself up, no more fighting, no more trying to get out of it—not if it meant Mikey would be spared. Meanwhile I think Mikey would be plotting their escape and would eventually manage to convince Donnie that running away and living on the streets would be better for them.

He does still love to dance and bounce around, especially while working in his lab with the music loud enough to make Draxum’s ears bleed—which I suppose would mean his password would still be the same!

@yesnervousdreamcollection Oh like you would believe! *Slaps the top of Donnie’s head* This turtle can fit so many personal space issues inside him! He’s very clingy and can lean in much too close when talking to someone, but as long as he’s the one doing it he’s fine. Hugging is one of the many ways he works through being overstimulated. But if he doesn’t see it coming or it happens without any type of warning he can panic or get violent, as it reminds him of how Draxum would use his vines to grab Donnie and haul him around or shove him away.

Splinter never told Mikey or Leo as they were pretty young, but when Raph turned 13–on the anniversary of their mutation day, Splinter tells Raph the full story behind their mutation, and he sadly recalls how he failed to save another turtle during their escape. It makes for a pretty somber mutation day, but from then on Raph will sometimes add a third figure when he’s imagining playing with his other two brothers, and when he’s a bit older and April gets him a book on turtles from the library, he pauses on the page about soft-shell turtles and reads some of the facts just to have that bit of knowledge tucked away.

The topic is only ever mentioned again in passing, during one of Splinter’s tentative talks with Leo and well…

Three is fluent in Yokai, Turtle (chirps and clicks and hisses, because I absolutely love this trope in fics), and will eventually learn ASL (from Leo).

Leo knows Japanese, ASL, enough Chinese to get by, and Spanish

Raph knows a bit of Japanese that Splinter taught him, and some French from April.

Mikey also knows Yokai, and is a master at reading body language.

Trying to keep things a little vague and not to spoil too much but Draxum does notice when Three disappears. He’s not happy that he’s gone, but is more pissed that all his test subjects have found their way to Lou Jitsu and are now actively working against him as a team.

I think tea is one of the very few things that Splinter has managed to find from a decent source—maybe not AS nice as what Saki could pull, but still nothing to scoff at. Probably one of the few times that Leo is comfortable sitting silently, alone with Splinter, is when they share a pot of tea. As they grow more comfortable, the silence gets filled more easily and it becomes their own bonding time.

@organisedchaosstuff

They’d probably panic the first time it happens. Donnie and Mikey would be completely lost on what to do, and Leo, who usually takes charge pretty fast would be so shocked from seeing the destruction, and be so worried about hurting Raph that he wouldn’t be able to think of a plan on the fly like usual. Mikey would probably be the first one to act, and chain Raph up with his nunchaku. Leo would try to reason with Raph, not really understanding that his big bro isn’t really hearing him, and probably get one or two fists in the face before his instincts override his worry about hurting Raph. Donnie would be in full on panic mode, and his brain would be stuck in a loop trying to figure out what in the world caused Raph to fall into such a state—only being pulled out of his thoughts when Leo orders him to tranq Raph.

After that first rough time, they get some answers from Raph and April on how to handle it better if it ever happens again, and the next time they’re able to pull Raph out of Savage mode with a little more finesse and a lot less panic.

[powerpcinside]

Sims 2: Miscellaneous Fandom Stuff

Some of this stuff I've been sitting on for a while and decided to just dump it all into one post. Three hairs, three outfits, and a facepaint.

Newsea Coco Retexture: My standard naturals + unnaturals, Remi's V2 textures, CF-EF. DOWNLOAD

Miku Outfit: Originally a TF only outfit from SimalCast, converted to AF and EF and added all morphs (fat+preg on TF and AF and fat on EF). DOWNLOAD

Newsea Mitsuki Retexture: My standard naturals + unnaturals, Remi's V2 textures, TF-EF. DOWNLOAD

Teto Outfit: Originally a TF only outfit from SimalCast, converted to AF and EF and added all morphs (fat+preg on TF and AF and fat on EF). DOWNLOAD

Necrodog's Jack Sparrow Hair: The original TS2 version of this seemed to be completely gone, so I reconverted the Sims 4 version to Sims 2. It's not entirely perfect, but it's passable. TM-EM, naturals only. (This and the Chairman Prescott uniform were done for @yamirenamon). DOWNLOAD

Chairman Prescott Uniform from Gears of War 2: A slightly edited Nehru jacket with custom texture pieced together by me. AM-EM, fat/preg morphs for AM and fat morph for EM. (This and the Jack Sparrow hair were done for @yamirenamon). DOWNLOAD

Yuri's Forehead... Whatever from Command & Conquer Red Alert 2: A facepaint hand drawn by me. (I probably should have taken it from cutscenes from the game instead of drawing it with a mouse, but oh well). PU-EU. DOWNLOAD

[speedierthanasubmarine]

I decided to watch helluva boss and imma do 2 separate posts for seasons 1 and two (why did I write it like that…?)

Season one

God I love this show. The writing is way more my speed than Hazbin hotel on Amazon, I enjoyed the writing in the pilot, but once Amazon took over the humor just didn’t really land for me, and tbh the plot took over and I started focusing more on that, and in general I’m more partial to the rapid fire YouTube dry comedy and this sentence is a friggin mess- I found HB SO FREAKIN FUNNY

Dude when he goes “FUCK, a new hole” I lost it

“Just try and sue us”

“We’re rich and we’re hot”

“I can just buy all the things!”

“You should commit die”

“Hehe, Trumpet!”

These are just my kinda lines, I don’t know how to explain it, I was wheezing all throughout the season

The music OH LORD when I say I’ve listened to stolas’s lullabye, lulu land, cotton candy, and house of ozmodius like 100000 times I’m… exaggerating but like you get the point the music here is friggin fantastic I also really like how a lot of the music is diegetic, I think that’s a fun touch. I don’t remember whether this is the case in Hazbin, but in this one it was like… I don’t know, it made sense that they were singing when they were singing… am I articulating myself well? I don’t care, iykyk if not, no prob

The animation is great, Viv loves them spinny shots and I am here for it. The amount of genuinely amazing action scenes is super impressive, and even the chill scenes have a ton of personality

The voice acting might be what steals the show for me, idrk anyone’s names cept Alex Brightman but BLITZS VA NEEDS AN AWARD, also slight tangent but I don’t know what it is with stolas’s va but he sounds a lot like a bird in the same sense that Gary Oldman sounded a lot like a bird in Kung Fu Panda 2, what is it that casting directors recognize in actors that screams bird?! Because both of these men are just SO BIRD DOES ANYONE GET WHAT I MEAN moving on, Ozzie’s voice was also effing PERFECT it slid silkily over me like… silk butter or smtg it was the perfect lust voice, I loved it. Everyone else was also great, but they were extra great.

It was also just so fun? Like in hazbin there’s very little just… shenanigans to enjoy, nothing wrong with that because it’s not that type of show, whereas this season is jam packed with them. Like I’ve heard that everyone hated episode 4, but like I don’t know I loved it😆 I just found it to be good old fashioned chicanery, and I liked the chaos and stupidity of it, made for some entertaining TV. This story engine is just mad entertaining for me.

I also enjoyed the writing of most of the characters (Millie, Moxxie, Loona, and Octavia still leave a bit to be desired imo, but whatever, they can’t all be winners and there’s nothing wrong with them) Blitz kinda reminds me of a Barney Stinson type character, which I really enjoy, and I also really like how his boss persona kinda infects everything he does while simultaneously being what’s screwing him over, his nature is kinda like a snake swallowing its own tail, which is tragic and beautiful, and Stolas compliments him well by being, not an enabler, but… I don’t know a clever way to say this… Stolas is a wreck in the best way and he just works. He’s short sighted, like extremely so, like how he thinks sleeping with Blitz will fill his emotional void so he does it but it just drives them further apart so it’s like he’s in a hole and in order to get out he’s gonna dig to pile up dirt so he can climb out but he’s an idiot and that’s a stupid idea and I loved his whole arc. Very enjoyable stuff drama.

Kinda random but whoever Viv’s foli artist is also deserves an award, the sound effects in this show are pristine and it’s incredible (yes I’ve seen the scene where the gun sounds go off a few seconds too late, and yeah, mistakes happen, but every bone crunch sounds and other stuff like that being so enunciated in an indie show is extremely impressive)

Anyhoo, very fun, very emotional, nice to look at, very funny, yada yada- altogether great season 1.