#something about smudged facepaint

[jacketpotatoo]

can’t draw kissing for the life of me. wanted them to kiss anyway.

[windienine]

on soul of sovereignty, ysmé the exalted, and gender presentation.

so! soulsov. soulsov and gender identity.

on my second playthrough (a livestream with friends), somebody pointed out that ysmé scanned to her as trans woman. i asked why, and we ended up in a conversation that lasted long into the night and notes for an analysis post i'd make at some inchoate point in the future.

that inchoate point is today!!

below the cut are some explorations into ysmé's character, her past, and potential intersections with gender identity. spoilers for the prelude ensue. if you're planning to play the game yourself in any capacity, i gently urge you to do that now before reading further. :)

I. YSMÉ, PRESENTATION, AND SPECTACLE

Ysmé is a practiced mage whose highly idiosyncratic use of artisanry (constructive magic) as a body mod is vital to how she chooses express herself as a person. She's out to become God and/or die trying.

We get introduced and reintroduced to Ysmé a whopping seven times throughout the prelude alone. In order, we are presented with her:

as a thief, stealing from a church,

as a sickly damsel, at the Lamplight,

as a treasure-hunter, when her guise starts to falter,

as a crazed mage, when she holds Loïc at gunpoint,

as a spooky ghost, when she is stabbed,

as a goddess, when she ascends,

and, finally, as a tired and scarred woman in the epilogue.

In many of these circumstances, how she appears to others is something she gets to dictate. Most notably, this factors into her choice to take the guise of a frail, sickly maiden` to better court the goodwill of Loïc (who she's already designated as a mark for this kind of act)

and when she later reveals her "true self" in the middle of the Hollow Temple to awe and frighten him. Here, she's in her full clowngirl glory! You can tell that she's spent time poring over every little flourish of this outfit, down to her nails matching the color of her facepaint. It's tacky, it's maximalist, it's sensual, it's a little unsettling, and boy is it everything. This is Ysmé qua Ysmé, and she makes sure you know it with the impact this one scene makes.

Even when we see her put together a look as a literal goddess, we get so much ostentatiousness that points exactly to what kind of person she wants to be seen as!

Two faces, one beneath the other, victory beneath a pulled-aside mask of tears. Fuller lips, fuller lashes behind a mask of smudged makeup. Eyes on her tatas because who the hell is there to tell her not to. She gets scene after scene where we get to see that she curates every single aspect of her appearance, and as someone who takes on many of the signifiers of a stage performer, she cares deeply about the kind of mask she chooses to wear.

Nothing here is accidental. Everything about how she genders herself is purposeful!

II. GHOST YSMÉ... (HEAVY SIGH) AND ALSO LANGLAIS'S ACCOUNT

The first time we see a version of Ysmé who isn't carefully curating her presentation using glamours, it's when she is quite literally dead. Along with wild hair and a body made of ghostly flames, she has a broader, straighter build than she had in any of her past guises (plus a gaping stab wound.)

It's our first hint that Ysmé's use of "glamour" goes beyond just a change of outfit and hairstyle. For friends more observant than I was on my first playthrough, this was the first "wait hold on is this an art style thing or is Ysmé being telegraphed as transgender, here?" moment.

There's one other named character appearing in the prelude who already has his own idea of who Ysmé is prior to the plot, and that's Langlais-- a police officer pursuing Ysmé at the behest of the Church of the Builder.

He quickly demonstrates himself to be pretty repugnant.

Regarding Ysmé's skill with artisanry, he remarks:

From context clues laid out in the wider text, "artisanry" is a magic based around weaving physical matter out of nothing. It is used in construction, art, and the production of goods, generally at a slow, measured pace, making one object at a time. Constructs made with artisanry are meant to be durable. It seems to be the main form of magic taught within the Mosaic, and its creation-based theming seems appropriate to the Builder writ large.

Ysmé's favored use of it (weaving entire new outfits and tools out of thin air, trading durability for speed and flexibility) is considered non-standard and low-brow-- "illusions" that are deceitful or childish in nature. Loïc has been mislead, he warns.

Langlais feels justified in treating Ysmé like some backyard nuisance that needs reining in and Loïc like a wuss for flinching at the sight of a gun, despite him having taken a demonstrably very real bullet from Ysmé's demonstrably very real (if spontaneously generated) handgun just the day before. It all clashes from what we've seen and the inferences we're meant to draw about how Ysmé uses magic--

however temporary, however breakable, Ysmé's "illusions" are to be taken seriously. I think that the way in which she chooses to modify herself should be included here, along with the possibility that that's not exactly an intended use case for artisanry.

In addition, when initially interrogating Loïc, he refers to Ysmé like this

implying that he believes that "Ysmé" is some sort of fake name or alias.

III. BOYMODER YSMÉ

The scene after Ysmé comes down off of her holy high and wakes up ass-naked in god-knows-where, having been assigned to do god-knows-what by the Voice of the Sovereignty, holds a lot of interesting implications for Ysmé in particular.

We get this remark from her internal narration:

Okay, so this is generally the first thing she does when she wakes up. Before doing anything else with her day, she uses artisanry to change her appearance. There are plenty of reasons why this could be the case (vanity, status as a wanted criminal, etc.), but the emphasis on it in this scene makes me believe the text is indicating that Ysmé might suffer from dysphoria and/or dysmorphia.

We get a good look at her in the very next CG, along with the one after, showing us an Ysmé with a different appearance than any of the guises we've seen before...

Ysmé, without any glamours or illusions being sustained, is an androgynous figure, akin to her ghost form. Still quite pale, still a skinny little thing, but the entire cut of her face and all of her body proportions are pretty different than, say,

any of this, in scenes where she's in full control of how she gets to look using magic.

Frankly, she looks like "mysterious elven prince" material, and it contrasts quite a bit with how she presents herself in the temple especially.

For now, I'm not going to go into any supplemental materials like the sketches and paintings featured on GG's blog, but they play with Ysmé's presentation on the regular there as well.

The conclusion I feel like I'm supposed to draw from all of this is that Ysmé is a transgender woman who uses her unique skill for artisanry to change her appearance to whatever she feels suits her. She is not necessarily comfortable being seen or seeing herself without a glamour on, but in this scene she is too spent to do anything about it.

IV. HAHA HEY GG WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS

BUT, that is not where the game ends. The prelude leaves us on a stinger.

A lone figure stands over an altar, praying to the Builder that His lost children, swayed by the Devil, may yet find their way.

The camera then pans over a figure that looks nearly identical to the Ysmé we saw a scene ago (albeit without any scars), right down to the soul-stealing blue eyes, fancy hair part, and really good clavicles. They open their eyes in response to the prayer.

So far, we've got very little context for this. It appears to take place in the same church as the opening scene where Ysmé is caught stealing, but we don't know who this person or the figure in the church is, and we don't even know if this is happening concurrently to the prior scene or if this is a flashback.

It's still of interest, I think. Something that didn't catch my eye the first time around and that I still didn't quite process until I saw the isolated CG on GG's blog:

Hey, check out that carved idol (presumably of the Builder himself?) right in the center of the goddamned church-- a familiar cut of the jaw, and a familiar hair part. Ysmé doesn't just look the part of a prince, she quite literally looks like an incarnation of the Mosaic's creator deity, who is exclusively referred to using masculine terms.

If the person in the end CG isn't Ysmé, then who is it? Why do Ysmé and this person both heavily resemble the Builder?

I could draw all sorts of conclusions about this from the text as written so far, but the one that feels most relevant here is this: if Ysmé is indeed "meant" to look like the Builder, if she was made to serve a very distinct purpose, if she was at some point meant to serve as a living vessel for His will,

wouldn't that put any decision by her to trans her gender in a very narratively relevant light?

Wouldn't that put her decision to leave the Mosaic and seek the Sovereignty in a very different light?

Wouldn't that mean that the story that she told Loïc on the way to the Hollow Temple (fleeing a religious family to serve a higher purpose-- even if it's just for herself) was technically true, after all?

If nothing else, it would put into perspective why a Church lapdog such as Langlais has been ordered to pursue her, along with a fully mobilized police unit in tow.

This pretty quickly takes a flying leap into the realm of speculation on my part, but I'm sure there's some connection between all of these similar elements and I'm interested in how it plays into Ysmé's character.

V. LOÏC, AND CONCLUSIONS

Let's jump back to that scene of Loïc and Ysmé waking up together.

None of this seems to come as much of a surprise to Loïc, who gives her the cloak off his back for modesty and regards her kindly despite the kind of day she has just put them both through. There's never any demand from him for her "real" name, no demand that she explain herself further, and certainly no shock about her appearance.

I'm inclined to agree with Loïc's read of the situation, here.

Ysmé is demonstrably a pretty poor liar. The dying ingenue act doesn't have much in the way of substance to it-- certainly not enough to buoy her through several conversations and a mutant wolf encounter with Loïc on the way to the Hollow Temple-- but the speech she gave in the forest about wanting something better for herself, a second chance away from a controlling family

struck a chord with Loïc. Despite it having been woven into her ongoing wicker basket of lies, there's a glimmer of something true, there. Ysmé wants the capital-S Sovereignty-- and lowercase-s sovereignty over her future and what she gets to make of herself.

Judging from her seeming unfamiliarity with the outside world, it might not be something she's ever had before.

None of her presentations by themselves comprise a complete snapshot of who Ysmé is as a person. However, they are different parts of the elephant, so to speak-- there is flicker of truth in each of them. After seeing several, Loïc decided that the fuller picture they form isn't one of the kind of person who would doom humanity.

He doesn't truly know her, yet, no. However, I think he has decided what he has seen of her paints a picture of a lonely, long-suffering, malcontented queer lady who, indeed, as mentioned by the pastor (?) figure in the first CG...

... has a heart. More alike to his own than different, even. In every form she's taken, she's revealed a little more about who she is and who she would like to be seen as. (For the record, I also feel like there are a few parts of the text that imply Loïc is his own flavor of trans and/or queer, but that's a much bigger leap and would deserve its own post)

I'm not sure how much all of these inferences will be backed in the final release. In Loïc's words,

Thank you for reading!

(your honor, i love her.)

[that-one-gay-aew-enthusiast]

𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚢 𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 - 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜

＿＿＿＿＿＿｡o*★*o｡＿＿＿＿＿＿

Warnings - None

Word count - 820

Genre - Angst, Fluff

Summary - Darby comes home to find you curled up in the corner.

A/n - my neurodivergent ass hates storms so I'm basing this off of what I would want.

＿＿＿＿＿＿｡o*★*o｡＿＿＿＿＿＿

Darby had been gone for a couple of weeks by now. It was understandable. It was Sting's last match, so the situation was understandable. Sure, you had been missing him, but you both still called every day and spent the early hours of the morning texting each other, so the pain of Darby's absence wasn't quite as harsh.

However, the night he was due to return home, which was supposed to be much more dream like, ended up being far more nightmarish. It was starting to get late, and Darby was still not home. He sent you a text saying that there was a traffic jam and he would only be about 20 minutes longer. On the surface, that didn't seem too bad. Until it wasn't.

About 25 minutes after Darby had sent the message, he finally stepped through the front door and into the warm house. His facepaint was almost completely gone , and the remains of it smudged and running down his neck as a result of the pouring rain and storm outside. He called your name out as he put his stuff down by the door, yet no reponse. All the lighst were turned off, but that was most likely due to the storm cutting the power. Darby started looking throughout the house, calling you name, becoming increasingly worried when he couldn't find you.

Eventually darby made it to the main bedroom. He slowly pushed the door open hearing a faint frightened whimper coming from the corner of the room. He slowly walked over to the corner where there was something covered by a blanket. Slowly and carefully he lifted the blanket to see your little face. You had tears streaming down your face, you entire body shivering and your breathing shaky and unsteady. Your arms clutched a black cat toy to your chest. Worst of all, you had your eyes squeezed shut and you didn't seem to notice Darby, too frightened to pay attention to your surrondings.

Darby put his hand on your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake. You gave a pettrified yelp before looking up and hugging him tightly. "Shhhhh, I've got you, princess. What's got you so upset, hmm?" Before you could mumble out an answer, a loud crash of thunder outside made you jump ,yelp, and hide your face in his chest. Darby stroked your hair, realising your cause of fear. He was used to this, having a little sister that hated storms as well.

He sighed and rubbed your back before picking you up and carrying you downstairs. Without saying a word, he set you down on the counter ,grabbed some headphones, and placed them on you. Darby connected his phone to the headphones and passed it to you ,not wanting to startle you with the music. You wrapped yourself around him again as Darby carried you back upstairs. The whole time, he rubbed your back soothingly.

Soon enough, you were both laid in the warmth of your bed. You had curled up in Darby's arms, trying your best to stay awake. Soon enough, you fell asleep, your cat toy falling into Darby's lap. He smiled and tucked it under your arm. Darby was gonna fight off that fear of storms. He was gonna protect you from them. He'd protect you from anything, in fact, just like he'd promised when you started dating.

The next morning, Darby got out of the bed ,cautious not to disturb you. He glanced out the window and saw the storm had caused the fences to rip apart ,as well as a small tree being ripped out the ground, now laying sidways. He glanced back at you and sighed. "No wonder you got that worked up." You soon started to stir from your sleep, glancing up at Darby, who now had you in his lap, stroking your hair gently. "Morning beautiful, you feel better after last night?" You nodded before mumbling an embarrassed apology. Darby looked at you confused. "Well, aren't adults supposed to ot be afraid of storms?" Darby narrowed his eyes and shook his head slowly, still puzzled by the outrageous statement. You soon realised that what you were saying was infanct nonsense.

After that day, you always had a pair of headphones within reach when the wether took a turn, and of course, if he was there, Darby would help you take your mind off of it. Giving you reassuring words and rubbing your back. He always stuck to his word.

[pan-flute-skeleton]

Person A normally does not go out to clubs. They normally don't accept drinks from strangers or dance with them. And they normally do not go home with them.

How about Ryan and Vivi? 👀

I had to think about this one for a bit as someone who hasn't gone clubbing in a loooooong time. But I think I got something. @expired-bat

The rooftop section of Elsewhere was where she wanted to be. Muggy air from the sky felt more refreshing after being trapped inside the nightclub for most of the night. The music from Jharian's set continued to pump and shake the walls. Everywhere she turned, people were dancing or grinding or doing tricks for social media. Vivi just needed a cold drink and a quiet corner for a few minutes. And the roof was the only place that could offer some peace.

Pride flags of each denomination hug. It was her first time going out with a label just to see if she could do it. The Bi stripes on her cheeks were dripping and smudged and Vivi wished she could wipe them off. She didn't mind the attention from men and women but she still felt uncomfortable in her public skin. Her mind was beginning to spiral and she was about to call for her ride home, but through the crowd, one man approached her.

"Well, well. Of all the places to find you, princess, here's the last one I'd expect." Ryan, accented with some Pan pride colors, rolled up beside her.

"Oh, umm, hi," Vivi forced out.

Ryan scoffed, "Pssh, bitch don't 'oh hi' me after everything! C'mon! I deserve a lil more than that." Vivi tried to laugh, but for whatever reason, she was stunted and awkward. Unable to be her social self despite the setting and especially the person. Ans he took notice. "Wassup? You're lookin' stiffer than Chris's jerk off socks."

"Sorry. I thought I'd be okay being out."

"You ain't that old, Vivi. And you never really get rid'a your party animal."

"No! I mean..." she took her fingers and pushed up her cheeks, warping her pride facepaint, "out."

His face softened, "Oh...really?" Vivi nodded and fidgeted with her drink straw. Thinking quick, he saw a clean napkin and a cup of melting ice on a nearby table. He dipped the napkin in and took her face in his hand. Gently, he wiped away the remaining paint and tossed the soiled item over the railing.

"Better?" he asked.

"Y-yeah, I guess."

"Come with me. I can do more." Ryan took Vivi's hand and brought her to an active dance floor. He moved with her slowly, rebuilding some of her confidence up. The music flowed back into her body and lit her back up. They collided and spun till the house lights came on.

Vivi stood on her toes to reach his ear and said, "you can take me home if you want."

He flashed a devilish smile, "you know that's what I want."

Also for reference this is the song I had playing

[thetruearchmagos]

The Commonwealth Calls

An Excerpt: Woodland Greens

This was... interesting, to write! I've been hoping to do something for one of my first and favourite OCs for a while, though this isn't quite as "good" as I would've liked? Whatever it is like to me, I'd love to hear what you all think of it!

Tagging @lividdreamz @dogmomwrites @marinesocks @sanguine-arena @athenswrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @theprissythumbelina @thatndginger @jamieanovels @the-stray-storyteller @muddshadow

The night was cold, and the forest ate the noise until it was as quiet as a tomb.

Lieutenant Gustav Johann Schmidt could hear his heart pound in his chest, the leaves crunching under his boots with each slow step across the foliage. He was sweating despite the chill, and could feel it seeping through his facepaint. Creeping low through the woods with his rifle at his shoulder, looking to either side through low-light goggles he could almost make out the green-tinted apparitions that made up the soldiers of his 1st Platoon, all moving with similar silence. They had been moving through the woods for about ten minutes, an agonising exercise in sheer self control, but one for which the reward was his highest calling. Victory.

Just a little further left to go, and shooting forwards Gustav flattened himself to the ground behind a low ditch, then scrambled up to see across the other side. There was the prize, the dark silhouttes of boxy armoured vehicles and concealed fighting holes that sat atop a wooded rise looking over an otherwise flat and open plain. There was a fidget every now and then, just enough movement to tell him that someone was waiting.

"Evenin' Sir, catching a good look?"

The sudden bassy voice appeared from the same empty void as its speaker, and even now the young Lieutenant couldn't quite get his head around Staff Sergeant Mandla Amadi's sheer capacity to sneak around his sizeable frame like a soft pawed kitten. The Platoon Sergeant pulled out a pair of optics, and Gustav did the same, both careful not to smudge the thin, matte coating on their lenses lest a sudden shine of the moonlight give away the game.

"Right, I call it three heavy vic's with twenty-mike guns, and about enough trench space for a dozen."

"So, just like the brief said, for once. Stick to the plan, Sarge?"

He smiled, and nodded.

"Aye sir, I'd say we'll do just fine. Poor buggers."

Gustav reached to his chest, switching on the communications rig and bringing it to his face. Mandla slipped back into the woods to tell the troops the good news in person, while across another ridge three kilometres east Sergeant Tamiko Miho switched on her vehicle's mounted comm set, buttoned up in one of the platoon's four Hoplite armoured transports.

"LOCAL, this is LEAD, Clear."

Checking her watch, she realised they were running a bit late, but that was to be expected. After popping out her hatch to sweep a look around, she replied.

"Clear On, LEAD. How's things over there?"

"Good, far as we know we're still undetected. Plan's unchanged, pick your targets and get ready to spit lead, and tell the mortars to shoot fast, Clear."

"Clear On, Sir. Have fun out there."

Flicking off the rig, Gustav then checked his watch. A slightly pricey piece from Artifi-Cal he'd bought when he received his commission, despite its luxury it did the job well enough. The time was 2315, and they were ready to move. He turned the frequency to the platoon-wide net, then gave the word.

"Red Trail."

An instant later, the forest roared to a furious life. To his right, Gustav knew one of his sections was pouring in machine gun fire, while even from this distance he could hear the heavy chugging of four twenty-five millimetre autocannons, and the deep bass of mortar fire. The defenders must have heard it too, and the hill was soon alive with movement and firing; all facing east, not into the woods.

One final signal left, courtesy of the Staff Sergeant:

THWEEEE

A brass whistle was a bit of an anachronism in the modern Army, but it served its purpose as well as it surely did a century ago. His remaing two sections surged from the tree line, joined by their commander as they made the mad fifty-metre dash across the open field. We've caught them with their pants down, Gustav thought to himself, with no small relish.

Time seemed to crawl as he ran, and it was as if he was seeing a film. To the left, his closest section had already reached the hillside, lobbing grenades and firing up the slope to cover the advance. The Hoplites had ceased firing when the boots had gotten close, but the heaving of mortars still carriedover the ---

The last thing he heard was a shrill whistle, coming from they sky and growing ever louder.

Then, nothing.

------

This kid's one seriously unlucky sonuvabitch----

As far as first words to hear after being knocked out went, Gustav thought through the haze of his mind, those weren't great.

Then, he finally thought to take a look around. He was in a room with sickly yellow wall-paper and harsh lighting, surrounded by people with concerningly wide smiles and red bands around their arms. Going from until now limited experience, Gustav deduced he was currently in the battalion medical post. Damn.

"Hardly, Doc! He's still alive, ain't he? Ah, and here he is now."

It seemed that someone had seenhim stir, and as Gustav struggled to speak a familiar face came over to block out the light. Staff Sergeant Mandla, in all his sharply and smiling cut glory.

"Mornin', Sir! Good news, we won the match last night, 2nd Platoon's stil bloody seethin' at that. Damn shame about your head though, but frankly you got off light, right Doc?"

A second figure leaned over him, this being the perpetually bleary-eyed Captain Meera Pariyar, holding a misshapen lump of green-tipped metal, with the beginnings of fins at one tapered end. So that's what did it.

"Objectively, yes. Seemed to be a grazing hit, glanced off well enough. If it hit you straight on, we'd be scooping your grey matter out of your helmet and into a bucket."

For a man still recovering from blunt force head trauma, Gustav thought he was taking all in this rather well. He tried to stand up, but Capta Pariyar held him flat.

"Absolutely not, kid. Until I say so, you are staying put. Have fun, maybe thank whatever guardian angel it is you have who's got the power to alter the path of mortar shells."

[ominoose]

𝐃𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Characters: Lester Sinclair, Leslie Vernon, Pyramid Head, Chotop The spinny wheel really set me up picking Pyramid Head for this lmao

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫

✦ Ask's you to do a racoon.

✦ "Always liked their little eyes and their funny white bits lookin' like eyebrows."

✦ Tries to sit still but is jittery at all the physical touches, giggling and sneezing every now and again. You'll have to keep reminding him to relax his face as he smiles so he doesn't crease the paint.

✦ Insistent that you give him whiskers too, but keeps ducking his head when the smaller brush tickles him.

✦ Besides the general giddiness, he sits rather still, keeping his hands to his knees. He might ask you a few questions while you work, like have you done this before, do you like racoons too. Lester's simply curious and happy that offered to do this at all, probably hasn't had his face painted before.

✦ Won't wash it off for as long as he can get away with, which isn't too long if Bo catches him in a grumpy mood. Otherwise, he'll keep it until he sweats it off or goes for a bath, always checking himself out in the mirrors of his truck or windows.

✦ When it does eventually come off, he'll constantly pester you to do something else. "I'm thinking maybe a coyote or something? Or, maybe you could do it like, a uh, like, an ant! Can you do ants?"

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐧

☽ "I don't get why you can't just do my usual face paint or mask, that's cool enough."

☽ Eventually settles for a white cat. "If Billy Lenz didn't kill the cat, it was to highlight something symbolic. Plus, cats are edible."

☽ Acts overly gloomy over not being allowed to have his usual facepaint, sighing loudly and rolling his eyes. It becomes a bit of a pain to work with until he gets bored of the behaviour.

☽ Very chatty while you work, going on a tangent about Black Christmas. "Did you know Lenz was upside down when he did the phone calls? It compressed his thorax. Genius." When you eventually tell him to pipe down so you can finish off, he'll reluctantly give in, now a bit more open to the experience after his ramblings.

☽ Absolutely stoked at the finished product. Spends a good while in front of the mirror, twisting his face and admiring every angle. When he's done, you'll be dragged to Eugene's house to show his honorary parents the look.

☽ Will insist you start looking into working within the slasher business, offering to hook you up with some clients. "Tons of the big guys wear makeup under their masks too, y'know, it's not something they make too obvious but its another way to root themselves within the femininity they stalk."

𝐏𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝

✧ Doesn't do anything when you ask, just stands there, but that's not a no.

✧ You settle for painting his head like a traffic cone, hoping he won't mind the humour and figuring his biceps and sword will keep the intimidation factor high.

✧ Only moves once, tilting his head to the side slightly when a rat scuttles past. After scolding him for making you smudge a line, he remains perfectly still, even after you're done.

✧ Doesn't say anything when you're done either, but also doesn't rub it off, which seems like a positive.

✧ Every time he sees you with some paint or a paintbrush he freezes, expecting you to paint on him again.

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐩

☽ Crazy excited you asked, he's never had his faint painted before!

☽ Takes ages to decide what to do, going between pigs, obscure musicians and a bucket.

☽ After much pushing, he decides on a Led Zeppelin inspired look, with lots of black eyeliner, a star on the edge of his mouth and lines between his eyes.

☽ Thanks to his already deathly pale skin, the black was all you needed to put on, yet it still took ages because he refused to sit still. He jumped in his seat, scratched his face, itched his head, went on several rants about the music industry and Drayton's derogatory comments on his "hippie" appearance. It took you nearly refusing to continue before he got the memo and calmed down, humming off-tune until you were done.

☽ He will not stop shoving his new look in everyone's faces when it's over, practically jumping up and down in excitement and yelling "Rock on!" any chance he gets.

☽ Eventually, Drayton will snap at him and demand he washes it off, which he is adamantly not doing, ever. The paint stays on his face for as long as nature allows. He will refuse to go for any sort of bath until it comes off naturally.

☽ He'll gladly take you up on the offer again if you ever ask, and if you ever have the patience.

[bloodmooncc]

I posted 525 times in 2021

178 posts created (34%)

347 posts reblogged (66%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.9 posts.

I added 576 tags in 2021

#reblog - 220 posts

#ask - 86 posts

#tzr - 42 posts

#ts4 - 41 posts

#s4 - 38 posts

#bloodmoon rb - 34 posts

#sims4cc - 29 posts

#wip - 29 posts

#s4cc - 29 posts

#ts4cc - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#i think i'll have to lie to tumblr and say that they misattributed my work or sum shit bc they dont let us report on behalf of otherse

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Dragula | Eyeliner

Here’s something small I made after returning from vacation #2. This was tricky to make; I had to use blender’s texture paint to get it to look right. Since school is starting again I won’t be posting cc as actively :<

Big gothy winged eyeliner

All ages except for baby

Feminine

Results vary depending on eye shape

4 swatches of black eyeliner (as shown above + an extra where the white waterline is at 50% opacity which I didn’t show bc I added it at the last minute lol)

Custom thumbnail

Disabled for random

DOWNLOAD (dropbox)

Don’t be fooled by the front angle previews. The inner and outer wings are longer than they look ;)

See the full post

1812 notes • Posted 2021-09-04 20:30:55 GMT

#4

❝Enoby❞ Hair

I guess this is my 1000 follower gift? I originally wanted to put this in a pack with a few other items to officially celebrate the milestone but couldn’t bring myself to do that bc im too impatient lol. Anyway thanks everyone <3

Long emo hair named after a goff icon. Oh and 2nd hair from scratch!!

Teen to elder

30 swatches; 18 EA + 12 bonus

Split dye overlay in facepaint (slider compatible) + tattoo categories

Note: for the overlays, the bonus dark brown swatch shows up in the wrong order in CAS and i couldn’t fix it :/ all of the swatches are there and working but just that one shows up in the wrong order

BGC

Hat chops

Tagged as feminine

somehow lower poly than my first shorter hair (7k)

DOWNLOAD (dropbox)

2278 notes • Posted 2021-04-02 19:30:45 GMT

#3

❝Dahlia❞ Preset Pack

Random pack of 3 presets. All are teen to elder, have custom thumbnails, and are disabled for random.

1. Body preset

Mostly changes leg shape, wider set breasts, suits medium to small sized sims.

Female only

2. Jaw preset

Wider jaw with a pointier chin

All genders

3. Lip preset

Bottom heavy with m-shaped upper lip

All genders

DOWNLOAD (dropbox)

3935 notes • Posted 2021-03-12 20:30:55 GMT

#2

Khaos | Makeup Set

Once in a blue moon, I make something that doesn’t involve a mesh.

I love that dirty grungey smudged look so I drew these a few months ago with only black swatches, forgot about it, then came back to make more swatches. This set is focused on dark colors so feel free to recolor idc.

Everything is toddler (go make creepy kids ig) to elder, unisex, disabled for random, and with custom thumbnails.

1. Khaos eyeshadow

Big and dramatic, inspired by Taylor Momsen’s early looks

28 swatches (Top row)

14 plain and 14 shimmery

2. Khaos eyeliner

Filled in corners and a slight outer wing

12 swatches (middle row)

3. Khaos lipstick

Blurred over the lip line, kinda like the lollipop lip trend

14 swatches (bottom row)

DOWNLOAD (dropbox)

Some of the color boxes look the same but they have different undertones i promise

4627 notes • Posted 2021-05-28 20:30:37 GMT

#1

❝Yujin❞ Hair

My first hair mesh completely from scratch! I thought I’d never join the dark side but my curiosity got the best of me.

Short wavy hime cut with bangs that kinda resembles a mullet

Teen to elder

BGC

Hat chops

Feminine, enabled for all genders (however there’s clipping on male sims T_T)

30 swatches; 18 EA + 12 bonus

Egirl strands overlay in facepaint (slider compatible!) and tattoo categories

Inspo

DOWNLOAD (dropbox)

4840 notes • Posted 2021-03-05 20:30:29 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[recurring-polynya]

I know it's been like 2 weeks but you know what shooting my shot for the Rukia Bday Bonanza (Bunnynanza? Bunanza? ...No.) More Squad 11 Rukia mohawk mini-menace of my heart and also Renji's heart.

I got so excited about revisiting this exceptionally dumb AU that I sort of forgot that I had no idea where I was going with this. I mentioned at some point that I think about this a lot, and I do, but I mostly think about it in the past, about the events that led up to this, but if I wrote that, I couldn’t keep torturing Byakuya and that’s honestly the only thing that’s important here. Please focus your attention on hot grumpy, gender-fluid goth Rukia, and not on how horribly rambly this is.

| ao3 | ff.net |

 🐅     💀     🍵

“Hisana,” said Byakuya, “I feel like you are not listening to the words I am saying to you.”

“I am listening very carefully,” Hisana replied as she traced the edges of her eyelids with liner. Hisana had a maid, a very good one, in fact, but she sometimes preferred applying her own make-up. Byakuya had noticed that she was especially wont to do so when she felt nervous. “‘Do not get your expectations up, Hisana.’ ‘I am not entirely sure it is her, Hisana, the resemblance is passing at best.’ ‘She is likely not what you are expecting, Hisana.’ Did I get it all?”

“I stand corrected. I feel like you are ignoring the words I am saying to you.”

Hisana pressed the cap back onto her tube of make-up with a pop. “I know she’s not the baby I left behind. I understand that she is a full grown adult with her own life that she may not want me in. I have had a long time to think about this, you know.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes closed. “You misunderstand me. I know you have mentally prepared for meeting your sister. “I am trying to tell you that it is not really possible for anyone to be prepared for…this person.”

Hisana held out her hand and Byakuya helped her to her feet, pressing her cane into one of her hands, and offering his elbow for the other. “Thank you, dear,” she said softly. And then, “You worry too much.”

Byakuya had known from the beginning that there would be no dissuading her.

Seike was standing in the hallway, waiting for them. “Your…guests have arrived, my lord. I had them escorted to the room that overlooks the peony garden, and arranged for a tea setting.”

Hisana’s hand tightened on Byakuya’s arm. He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing else he could say. They headed out to the room that overlooked the peony garden.

On the bright side, Inuzuri Rukia and her dreadful beau had dressed up. Unfortunately, what they had dressed up as appeared to be a pair of comedy relief villains from a kabuki play.

Abarai had covered up his awful forehead tattoos, which was nice, except that he had covered them up with what appeared to be an equally awful tiger-striped bandana. The tiger stripes were presumably meant to coordinate with the painted tigers that danced and roared about the hem of his eye-searing red and gold haori. To be honest, the thing was rather exquisite, it just wasn’t something that a person should put on their body and then wear to another person’s house for tea. The tiger theme didn’t stop there, no, why should it? Abarai had swapped out his work-day skull facepaint for a razor-sharp cat's-eye, his lids smudged with bright splashes of orange and white up to the brow-bone. It might have been a rather sultry look, if not for the fact that the young man’s eyes were as wide as a child’s, taking in everything as though he had never been in a house before.

Inuzuri, on the other hand, wore a very subtle and handsome ensemble. It was also utterly masculine. She was in gradations of black-- black haori over black kimono paired with silver-on-black striped hakama. As Byakuya looked more carefully, (mostly trying not to burn his retinas by looking directly at Abarai), he noticed that there were ghostly red and white spider lilies haunting the hem of her jacket, and there were tiny skulls near the shoulders, instead of the usual family mon. So much for taste. She, too, had swapped out her workday death’s-head makeup for sharp, simple slashes of eyeliner, red on the lower lid, black on the top. It made her look like she hadn’t slept in a year. The ghastly spiked hairstyle of earlier had been brushed out into a big, soft waves, like the mane of a horse. It looked rather pretty like that, Byakuya thought absently, before realizing that these people had somehow destroyed his entire aesthetic sense in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you for inviting us to your home!” Abarai bellowed, Inuzuri joining in a beat late. Both of them dropped into a deep bow.

Hisana swallowed, her fingers digging into Byakuya’s arm.

“Thank you for coming,” Byakuya replied.

“We brought you a present!” Abarai continued at the same atrocious volume, thrusting an object at Byakuya.

Byakuya took it instinctually, and then belatedly looked down at the thing he held in his hands. It was… a plant cutting, freshly potted into a cheap little teacup, a commercially made thing with a little dancing rabbit stamped on the side. Byakuya stared at it, wracking his brain for potential symbolism.

“It’s from our spider plant. At home,” Inuzuri mumbled.

Byakuya glanced up at the girl. If this had been their first meeting, he would have just thought her surly and ill-mannered, but he had seen her earlier, at ease with herself and overflowing with cool bravado. Byakuya knew he was not, generally, very good at reading people in informal settings, but, for some reason, he found Inuzuri very obvious. She was nervous, and it was not his presence that was to blame for it.

“Ayasegawa says they’re real good at cleaning up the air,” Abarai announced. He paused. “You probably don’t need that much in a nice place like this. Y’can never have too much oxygen, though, right?”

“Stop. Talking,” Inuzuri hissed at him through her teeth.

Okay!” he agreed.

“It was very thoughtful, thank you,” Hisana replied, her voice thick with emotion. “Shall we have some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Abarai replied instantly, and Inuzuri gave a small nod of agreement.

Byakuya breathed out a small sigh of relief as a servant scurried in with the tea tray. Seike appeared at his elbow. “May I take your plant, Lord Byakuya?”

“Er, yes,” Byakuya said, handing it over with great care, as though it were in danger of exploding.

“Put it in the library, please, if you will, Seike,” Hisana said sweetly. “Find a sunny spot near my art table.”

Byakuya noticed Inuzuri watching him like a hawk as he helped Hisana sit, but the girl said nothing. Once she was settled, Hisana began pouring tea. Byakuya could have done it, but it was a thing Hisana liked to do. “Pardon my poor manners,” she said slowly. “Rukia-- may I call you Rukia?”

“Everyone does,” Inuzuri shrugged.

“You’ve grown up to be so strong and handsome,” Hisana said, brushing at one eye absently. “I never imagined.”

Byakuya’s eyes slid over to take in his snuffling wife. She didn’t even seem surprised that her sister was barely half a step removed from a yakuza tough.

“And Byakuya tells me that you and Mr. Abarai have been companions since Inuzuri? Oh, that’s so wonderful!”

“You can call me Renji,” Abarai replied, eying the tray of wagashi. “Can I have one of those? Ow, Rukia!”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Hisana flapped a hand. “Help yourself, that’s what they’re there for.”

Abarai abruptly scooped a massive handful onto his plate, and then deposited two more onto Inuzuri’s. Despite himself, Byakuya found this gesture strangely charming.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Inuzuri said slowly, peeling the wrapper away from her wagasi approximately one molecule at a time, “what makes you think I might be your sister?”

“That is a very fair question,” Hisana granted. “All the evidence is circumstantial so far.”

Byakuya looked at Inuzuri, with her purple eyes and her heart-shaped face and her tiny hands and her improbably cute nose, and then he looked at his wife with her purple eyes and heart-shaped face and tiny hands and even more adorable nose. Then, he looked at Abarai, who appeared to be in the same state of deep disbelief as himself, and against his better judgement, they shared a moment of horrible solidarity.

“There are kidou used by the nobility to establish paternity,” Hisana went on. “It’s not exactly the same, since our relationship originated in the Living World, but Byakuya thinks it should give an indication. That is, if you would be willing to undergo such a thing. The clan elders would probably require such a thing, and perhaps it would give you peace of mind. I remember you, though. I know in my heart that you are my sister.”

Inuzuri set the wagashi back down on her plate again, untasted. “Captain Kuchiki wouldn’t answer me when I asked earlier. What does it mean, for us to be sisters?” Her eyes slid over to Byakuya, and he cursed the fact that someone with those eyes had been sent through the Squad Eleven School of Violent and Malicious Eye Contact. “What do your clan elders care about me?”

“There are a number of reasons why I… left you in Inuzuri,” Hisana said, twisting her hands together. “But the primary one was so I could find some means of income. So I could take care of you. I always intended to come back for you, if I could. I… I checked in on you a few times, but at some point I guess…”

“I ran away?” Inuzuri broke in. “I ran away from so many places in Inuzuri that I can’t even tell you which one you might have let me with.”

“In any case,” Hisana pushed on, “You seem to be doing very well for yourself, but if… if you wanted to, you could come live with us, here. The family is much smaller than it used to be, and there’s lots of space…”

“By ‘you’, you mean plural ‘you’, right? Meaning ‘us’?” Inuzuri gestured between herself and Abarai.

Hisana blinked. “Oh. Er…” She glanced at Byakuya, as if she simply had no idea how his various aunts would react, were her unwed sister to move into their ancestral seat with her emotional support meathead in tow.

“Captain Kuchiki probably forgot to mention it,” Inuzuri announced, regaining some of her former brassiness, “but we’re engaged. To be married.”

Hisana’s face immediately brightened. “Oh! Really? Oh, oh! Congratulations! That’s so wonderful! Byakuya, how could you forget something like that?”

She said ‘forget’, but Byakuya knew quite well what she meant.

“It seemed like the matter was still in debate,” he said vaguely. “I did not wish to be overhasty in reporting news of such gravity.”

Abarai chewed slowly, his eyes darting between Inuzuri and Byakuya.

“Just because we talk about it casually doesn’t mean we aren’t serious about it,” Inuzuri said, leaning forward slightly. “We might even go down to the Registration Office this week, if we can get an afternoon off. Just get it taken care of, you know?”

Abarai picked up his teacup and down the entire thing in one swallow.

“Oh, Rukia, no!” Hisana protested. “Don’t you want a real wedding? If money is an object--”

“There are many other benefits to being a Kuchiki,” Byakuya interrupted before his well-meaning wife made an offer that he would come to regret. “I would have to carefully review your service records, of course, but a transfer to the Sixth Division could likely be arranged. I am sure the Eleventh has its charms, but it does not offer much in the way of career advancement.”

This was a bold ploy on Byakuya’s part, one he had carefully considered beforehand. He certainly did not want these horrifying delinquents under his command, but if their presence in his extended family was to be inevitable, he certainly didn’t need Zaraki’s, as well. Byakuya had to admit that he was slightly intrigued by Aizen’s poorly masked desperation to get Abarai back. They might be unpolished, the pair of them, but you didn’t make a top seat in the Eleventh by being a poor soldier. It was possible that by keeping them close, he might be able to assert some influence, assuming they didn’t just turn him down flat, and possibly curse him out for even suggesting it. At least he could say he had offered.

Instead, they momentarily froze, both of them.

Hisana frowned, her pretty forehead creasing. Byakuya had to admit, he was a bit confused as well.

Abarai recovered first. No, ‘recovered’ wasn’t the right word. Reacted, perhaps. “Aah, ahh, that’s very generous of you, Captain Kuchiki, but we’re real happy at the Eleventh! Career advancement is nice ‘n all, but it’s not for everyone! I mean, we both got nothing but admiration for the Sixth, a real model for the whole Gotei, as they say, but a coupla goons like us--”

“What are you doing?!” Inuzuri hissed at him frantically. “Did you hear what he just said, you moron? For years, since the Academy--”

“You know what, Rukia?” Abarai cut her off. He wasn’t exactly yelling, but his volume controls appeared to have been set too high. “I think you’re really getting ahead of yourself, as always! Trying to cut yourself the best deal, worryin’ about me! I think all this Inuzuri talk has you actin’ like a street rat again.”

Two bright spots appeared on Inuzuri’s cheeks.

“Your long-lost sister went to all this trouble t’find you, maybe you should just take a little time to get to know her before worryin’ about all this what’s gonna happen stuff!” Abarai plunked his cup down on the table and jerked his chin at Byakuya. “Pardon my impertinence, Captain Kuchiki, but maybe you and me oughtta get out of here and give our girls some space to say the things they gotta say to each other.”

Inuzuri’s mouth opened and then closed again.

“Hisana…” Byakuya said slowly, placing his hand on her arm.

“I think that might be a good idea,” Hisana said slowly.

“As you wish,” he replied.

Abarai was glaring sternly at Inuzuri, who was attempting, unsuccessfully, to evade eye contact with him. Finally, she gave off a huffy little sigh. “Fine,” she conceded. “But you better behave yourself. If this is an excuse to try to get Captain Kuchiki to fight you, I will never speak to you again, you hear me?”

“That’s a big, fat lie. You couldn’t go an hour without talking to me.” He tapped one big finger on the edge of her plate. “Eat your wagashi, dummy. They’re too good to waste.”

The only problem with this plan, Byakuya decided as they left the ladies to their conversation, was that now he had to find something to do with Abarai. They should stay nearby, he felt, in case Hisana changed her mind and wished for his return. It was a shame though, because his brain had rather latched onto the idea that Abarai thought himself worthy of crossing blades with the head of the Kuchiki. The young man was large, but he had probably never faced--

“Captain Kuchiki,” Abarai said breathlessly the moment he had shut the door behind them, “with all due respect, you cannot offer us spots at the Sixth.”

Byakuya blinked. “And why not?”

“Because Rukia will make us go.”

“Is there something you find objectionable about my division, Mr. Abarai?” Byakuya asked, frost curling around the edges of his words.

Abarai pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. “I am actually a huge fan of your division, sir, and that’s the problem. If you actually did pull our service records, you’d probably notice that I applied there out of the Academy.”

“My division takes very few new graduates,” Byakuya explained. “And those that are accepted are nearly always from families with long histories of Gotei service. I have high standards for my officers, and I am not fond of taking risks. There is no shame in having received a rejection. You have--”

“You misunderstand, sir. I got an offer. I turned it down.”

All the words flew out of Byakuya’s head. “You what?”

“It was my dream to join the Sixth, sir, and I know about your hiring practices. I didn’t really expect to get in. I just applied because… you know, nothing ventured an’ all.”

Byakuya was going to have a conversation with Shirogane the next time he managed to make it to the office. “So why did you reject our offer?”

Abarai appeared to be making a study of the rafters. “School, you see, wasn’t really Rukia’s strong point. She’s an amazing shinigami, even Captain Zaraki thinks so, but that stuff doesn’t always reflect in test scores, y’know? We weren’t real confident she was gonna get into the Gotei at all, to be honest. She was good at kidou, though, and she took the full healing track senior year, so we were pretty optimistic that she’d get an offer from the Fourth, which, as it turned out, she did.”

Byakuya raised one eyebrow, unable to see where this was going.

“We had some friends at school, really smart kids, Kira and Hinamori, who were gung-ho for the Fifth, so we applied there, too, and, well, we got in, all four of us.” Abarai sighed. “Nothing against the Fourth, sir, but it’s nobody’s first choice, y’know? The Fifth seemed like such a good opportunity, but it made Rukia nervous, see? She felt like it must’ve been a mistake or something. She wouldn’t have gone without me, she would have gone to the Fourth. So I… lied… and told her I didn’t get into the Sixth, but it was fine, we would all go to the Fifth together.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “I fail to see what this has to do with present circumstances.”

“Well, suffice it to say, sir, the Fifth didn’t work out so good for us.”

“I spoke with Captain Aizen, actually. He seemed pleased enough with your job performance. I got the distinct impression that he would rehire you on the spot, if you asked him.”

Abarai’s face went stiff. “I would go back to Inuzuri before I would work for that guy for another minute.”

Byakuya found this a rather curious attitude and wanted to ask him more about it, but Abarai was already talking again. The fellow talked more than possibly anyone Byakuya had ever met, including the Eleventh’s oddly beautiful Fifth Seat.

“I’m sure you think the Eleventh is barely controlled chaos, sir, and to be honest, you’d be mostly correct, but some people thrive on chaos, and Rukia is one of ‘em. She’s become the person I always knew she could be. She’s fierce and brilliant and happy. She belongs there.”

“Then why would she wish to transfer?”

“Because she thinks I don’t. She still feels like she made me leave the FIfth, even though I hated it there, too. She always hints that maybe I ought to be training for the Vice-Captain’s exam like Iba, so I can be ready to apply for Lieutenant Shirogane’s spot when he retires, which I give roughly 7 to 10 years from now.”

“Excuse me, what?” Byakuya echoed.

“And obviously, it would be rad as Hell to be your second, you’re definitely the coolest captain and your swordsmanship is legendary, but I’m really just happy to be wherever Rukia is. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to go changing things on my account.”

Abarai appeared to finally be finished and Byakuya took a moment to process all of this. He was not sure anyone had ever unburdened themselves to him in such a fashion before, let alone someone he had met only a few hours ago. Nevertheless, there was something oddly endearing about Abarai. Perhaps it was his general air of utter earnesty, or perhaps it was the fact that Abarai’s entire dilemma revolved around the happiness of a young woman who appeared to have even more in common with Byakuya’s own wife than he had initially suspected.

“You do realize,” Byakuya said, attempting to sound not entirely unsympathetic, “that Miss Inuzuri’s life is about to change quite dramatically, regardless.”

Abarai rubbed the back of his neck glumly. “I guess you’re right.”

What a strange pile of contradictions this young man was! But despite his ostentatious presentation and his utterly bewildering priorities, Byakuya recognized in Abarai a potential ally. “I promised Hisana that we would offer Miss Inuzuri a place with our family, but she is under no obligation to take it,” Byakuya pointed out “We would never wish to disrupt your current felicitous situation.”

Abarai looked torn. “I think she should take the opportunity to try and get to know her sister, though. She’s never had a family before-- well, neither have I-- and I just think… well, it’s important.”

“Of course,” Byakuya agreed. “But I myself have wondered if perhaps the pressure of a public acknowledgement might do more harm than good. That perhaps keeping things… low-profile… at least until things are settled…might be more sensible.”

“Hmm,” said Abarai.

“It is very rare, I think,” Byakuya mused, “to find one’s proper place in Soul Society and to properly appreciate it. So many are fixated on advancement, when contentment is already within their grasp.”

Abarai’s face screwed up and Byakuya realized he must be having a thought. “I’m not sure ‘contentment’ is the thing we got at the Eleventh. Rukia’s challenging Kadokawa for Sixth Seat next week, which means I gotta fight the Hammerhead for Seventh, and that guy is a lot tougher than he looks, which is hard, because he already looks pretty tough.”

Byakuya just stared at him.

“But you’re right, we got a pretty good thing going. I really appreciate you saying that, actually. Ayasegawa said you might be-- well, what I mean is, he was concerned that you might not think much of us, coming from where we do and I’m glad he was wrong.”

Byakuya was beginning to get the feeling that he had made a horrible mistake.

Before he had much time to contemplate this, however, the shoji slid open, and Inuzuri stepped forth, supporting Hisana on her arm.

“Well, you gentlemen didn’t get far!” Hisana laughed.

“We had a good discussion,” Byakuya said, as if this explained anything.

“So did we,” Hisana replied, sounding very pleased. Despite himself, Byakuya couldn’t help feel his heart warm a bit at her happiness. “I’ve promised Rukia a tour of the armory. I don’t suppose you also like old swords, eh, Mr-- er, Renji?”

Abarai’s face positively lit up. “I sure do!”

“Excellent! I hope you’ll come, too, Byakuya, too. I’ll surely embarrass myself if I pretend like I know anything about swords.”

“Of course,” Byakuya agreed, as though he was going to let these two go anywhere near his ancestral weaponry unsupervised. “Have you reached any accords?”

“We also had a good discussion,” Hisana declared. “We have decided to proceed carefully.”

“Ah,” Byakuya replied as he and Abarai fell in step behind the women. “That seems very prudent.”

“Oi, Renji,” Inuzuri barked. “I might’ve invited Hisana and Byakuya over to ours this weekend. I also might’ve talked up your oden. You aren’t gonna make me a liar outta me?”

“Please don’t call me by my-- you’ve what?” Byakuya sputtered.

“I can make oden, no problem!” Abarai declared.

“Thanks, babe. I want to invite Yumichika and Ikkaku over, too. Hisana wants to throw us one of those formal engagement party things, and I thought maybe they could represent your side of the family, but I thought it would be good for everyone to meet first.”

“No,” said Byakuya.

“Aw, yikes, that’s a lot of oden. I might have to ask Hisagi if he can borrow one of his captains’ big cookpots for us. Are all those people gonna fit in our place?”

“It’ll be cozy, but we can make it work!” Inuzuri tipped her head backwards, presumably to look at Abarai, but Byakuya got the distinct impression she was actually looking at him. “After all, we’re family!”

[moonlit-imagines]

Halloween MUA

Wanda Maximoff x reader

warnings:

a/n: SINCE ME AND EMCON SHARE A BRAINCELL THIS IS A HALLOWEEN MAKEUP FIC AND I WILL BE WRITING THE ONE I WAS ALREADY PLANNING AS EVERYDAY MAKEUP DHSHSJSJJS

prompt: @the-radio-star: “For the Halloween prompts could I request #9 with Wanda Maximoff?? Because like....? The emotional intimacy of someone helping you with your makeup??? Unmatched”

You knew your costume was missing something, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. You brushed your fingers through your hair...no, that’s not it. Maybe you needed a belt? Not that, either. You flattened out some of the wrinkles on your top and did a turn-around in the mirror, and a few more until you heard a knock.

“Y/N? You almost done?” Wanda’s voice muffled through the door and you immediately whipped it open, she flinched with an “oh!” and took a step back.

“Hi, sorry. I’m not so sure about this costume.” You peered down and your toes and back up to her, who was standing in a slant with her finger tapping her cheek...observing. Wanda reached for your chin and turned your face carefully from side to side.

“I have an idea.” She mumbled and left you standing there alone and confused, wondering if she’d ever return.

“Uh, Wanda? Where’d you go?” You called out without moving, you felt it best to stay still until Wanda came back with a box of colorful supplies. “Facepaint?”

“Mhmm!” She smiled and opened the box. “Let me do your makeup?” Wanda proposed while holding a brush in either hand and wiggling her eyebrows, you could tell she was going to get a kick out of this.

“I suppose.” You sighed without hiding your smirk and her face lit up.

“Yay!” Wanda led you back to the bathroom and turned on an extra light so she could see exactly what she was working with, her fingers traced your cheeks down to your jaw, then she brushed your hair away from your forhead. “Okay, y/n, close your eyes. The sponge is going to cover your face in the green paint, don’t be startled.” You weren’t paying much attention to her words, you more focused on her sparkling eyes. “Y/NNN..?” She stroked her hand down your face and giggled. “Keep them closed.” You finally complied and felt the cold, wet makeup be dabbed across your cheeks and nose, your squinting only fueled Wanda’s amusement. “Stay still, darling.” Her term of endearment made your heart flutter.

“Are we almost done?” You asked, peeking one of your eyes open to see several makeup supplies floating around you and Wanda in a red-tinted cloud. A smile crept onto your face at such a simple sight.

“Not yet, mylyy.” Wanda spoke a word in her mother tongue that you didn’t quite understand, but it put you at ease enough for you to let her continue. You zoned out in your own mind as you imagined the concentrated look on her face that was covered by your own eyelids, what a shame. Wanda guided your face up and down, side to side for the fine finishing touches and...“Done!” Your eyes fluttered open to see a proud smile on Wanda’s face, her hands grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you towards the mirror so you could admire her artwork, which was actually magnificent.

“Wow.” You moved your hands near your face, but Wanda quickly pulled them away.

“Do not smudge your makeup. A poor witch worked very hard on it.” She noticed your phone on the counter and decided to do what was sensible and take a selfie, the makeup artist and her subject, both stunning in their own right. You made a scary face and leaned over her shoulder, trying out all sorts of new expressions. It wasn’t long before Wanda caught you eyeing her through the help of the camera. You noticed her bite her lip and waited patiently for her to look at you.

Her pink lips were just inches away from your green ones, her eyes flickered to your focus and you thought this was it. This was what you’ve been waiting for. You shut your eyes to savor the moment, but when you leaned in, you heard...

“Ah, ah, ah.” When your eyes opened again, Wanda had a finger hovered before your face, not quite touching your lips. “As much as I’d like to do that, I worked hard on that makeup.” She smirked and backed away. “But that gives me something to look forward tonight...”

“Wait, you—what?” You blinked in surprise and she walked past you, looking back to shoot you a wink. “Oh, my god, no way.” You muttered. Tonight?! Tonight?!

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck //

[hankwritten]

No Thru Traffic

Gen, 1k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 6: Parade

“I’m really sorry Administrator,” I coughed into my tissue. “It really is- achoo-! It really is that bad. But at least it came after I got all that work done yesterday, right?”

The slightly pixelated Administrator on the other end of the Zoom call did not chime in in agreement. She narrowed her eyes, and I swallowed, hoping the sweat beading down the side of my face added to the charade.

After several tense seconds, the Administrator said, “very well. But I expect you early tomorrow morning to make up for the lost contracts.”

“Oh d-definitely,” I sniffed. “I’m sure it’ll be c-cleared up by tomorrow,”

“It better be. Administrator out.”

Her face hung frozen for a half second before the call dropped, replaced by a black void on my screen. I cautiously closed the webcam cover, just in case.

Then, I flew into a frenzy, wiping off the makeup I’d used put fake bags under the eyes. From my nose I removed two stubs of tissue, and took in a glorious breath now that I was freed from stuffy-nostrils. The sweat was real though. I’d never lied to the Administrator before, never to her face, and the sudden adrenaline as I realized what I’d just pulled off threatened to jitter me out of my skin.

“Yes!” I said, punching the air. “Ha! I did it!”

The exultation was short lived, as my head whipped to where my laptop was still sitting open. The call was over but…better be extra safe and power that off before I go.

I changed out of the grubby, sick-girl pajamas, and went to my closet. Habitually, my hand went to one of my numerous purple tops, but stopped just short of the hanger. Was this what I was going to wear, today of all days? Same boring work clothes I did for the other three hundred sixty-four days a year? I drew my hand back and frowned.

Screw it. Who knew when the next time I’d work up the nerve to do this again?

I began shoving hangers aside, heavy with their deep whooshing as I sorted through dozens and dozens of painfully similar button downs. Sometimes there was even a dress! How original! So I just kept searching and searching until-

There! Right at the back: an orange Hawaiian shirt I’d worn exactly once, back when I’d been forced to take my government mandated vacation. I pulled it on with gusto.

The tangles came free from my hair—I hadn’t brushed it yet that morning in order to give it that “sickly” look—and then I was in front of the bathroom mirror. Biting my lip, I looked down at the facepaints I’d bought on an impulse, thinking at the time I could paint little flags on my cheeks, but now that the time was upon me I wondered if it was too much. Already I was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, how much more wild was I willing to get?

But, well, since I’d already bought them…

Fifteen minutes later, I examined myself in the mirror again, and gave a relieved sigh. Hadn’t managed to smudge a thing!

Sensible shoes, my bus pass, and then I was off.

The parade was vibrant, so much better in person instead of looking at YouTube clips later and sighing wistfully. My first day off to coincide with it ever, and all I’d had to do was a little office subterfuge. Now, as long as I didn’t end up in any photos, no one would know I’d been here at all! Everything was going to be absolutely-

“-Oof, entschuldigung, I did not see you there.” The man who’d just bumped into me adjusted his glasses. “Miss Pauling?”

“Medic?” I gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“I am here for the parade of course,” he said, gesturing around. He was dressed for it, his usual vest replaced with one of horizontal rainbow stripes. “As are you, I assume.”

“Yes but,” I stumbled over my words. “What about work?”

“Ah, the Voice? I simply told her I was sick.”

I felt my spirits sink. “Did you now.” I rubbed my face, only remembering to avoid the facepaint at the last second. “It’s fine. Great to see you actually. As long as no one else recognizes us I’m sure we’re-”

“Doktor! Miss Pauling!”

“Aw jeez.”

Pushing through the crowd to greet them was the Heavy Weapons Guy—even worse, Engie appeared to be tagging along behind him, discussing a brochure with a unicorn-costume clad Pyro.

“Did not expect to see you here,” Heavy said as he made it to our side of the street. “Thought little Pauling must work.”

“Could say the same to you guys!” I said, irritation creeping into my voice. “Don’t tell me you all just played hookey together?”

“Naw,” Engie replied. “Didn’t know any of these fellers were coming until we all ran into each other.”

“This is bad,” I began to titter. “If we’re here, then who’s at the office?”

“…Is this a bad time to tell you that Demo ‘n Soldier are coming at us from down the street?”

I whipped around. Sure enough, there they were: Soldier with rainbow-striped American flag tied around his shoulders, and Demo with his afro dyed a deep commitment to purple.

“Ahhhhh!” I couldn’t help but let out. “Why did you all have to skip work at the same time as me?”

“We all wanted to come to the parade, lass.” Then, noting my distress, Demo added with a wink, “don’t fret! The old woman won’t know a thing. Currently, I’m home in bed with the measles.”

“The measles,” I deadpanned. I turned to our now rather obstructing group. “And what did the rest of you say?”

“Gingivitis,” Soldier offered.

“Chicken pox.”

“Halitosis.”

“Cat Scratch Fever,” Scout said, taking a bite from a hot dog.

“Scout!” I demanded. “When did you get here?”

He shrugged. “Don’t blame me, I was just following Spy, seeing why he was sneaking around and crap.”

“And I told you,” Spy’s voice replied, “that I was merely following the bushman and seeing what he was up to.”

“Wankers.”

Maybe I should just stop turning around. Then my coworkers would have to stop randomly appearing behind me, right?

“That’s literally everyone,” I berated them all. This time, when I rubbed my palms under my glasses, I did end up smudging the paint, streaks of white and pink running up my cheeks. “Uhg, we’re so screwed. What is the Administrator going to think when she walks in to the office and sees-”

“Absolutely no one?”

Okay. It looked like I’d have to turn around in a horrified manner one more time.

The Administrator parted the crowd around her, not the least because her shoulder pads threatened to stab anyone who got too close. Everyone shrank before her, except for Heavy maybe because I don’t think he has it in him to shrink before anyone.

“Helen,” I started, then cleared my throat. “I guess you uh…took a guess where we all went huh?”

“That I did.” She blinked down at her employees. “I must say I am disappointed. Of course, I expect something like this from these idiots, but from you Miss Pauling? Couldn’t even engineer a decent structural emergency in order to justify shirking your work. At the very least you could have flooded the building, or released feral opossums into the ventilation.”

“HEY NOW,” Soldier barked from the back of the group. “Have you been reading my itinerary? Because it very clearly says SOLDIER’S DAY PLANNER, DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU ARE SOLDIER OTHERWISE I WILL KILL YOU!”

“…Are you saying you wanted me to fabricate an emergency?” I asked, perplexed.

“It would at least have been more convincing than nine separate emails from my employees, all claiming different maladies. One of which was,” she looked at her phone, “‘A Case of the Mondays’.”

“It is actually proven that worker productivity is up to thirty-three percent lower at the beginning of the week,” Medic justified.

The Administrator stared at him. “It’s Thursday.”

“Alright, alright,” Engineer butt in. “I think we can all agree that we may have messed up a little. Told a few harmless lies about medical issues we may or may not have. But that ain’t exclusive to Miss P here! We all’ve been lying ‘round here, and it ain’t fair to single her out.”

“The laborer is right,” Spy agreed. “The blame should fall on all of us.”

One by one, to my amazement, the others spoke up, or nodded in agreement. When I glanced up at the Administrator again, she had an eyebrow raised, as though I had somehow orchestrated this as well.

“I could instruct you all to return to work, you know,” she said. “It is only fair that your recrimination should begin there. However…”

“You showed up, saw how sick it was, and decided you’re going to hang out and eat hot dogs with us instead?” Scout asked.

She glared at him. “I still have work that must be done before the end of the day. But, it appears Miss Pauling has tripled her workload in the week leading up to today, she has effectively removed any urgency from the rest of your duties. Thanks to her foresight, you are technically not needed at the office today.”

“Aih! Way to go lassie!” Demo said, squeezing me around the shoulders until only my toes were on the ground. Similar congratulations were offered, everyone getting in a pat on the back.

“You inspire great loyalty, Miss Pauling,” she said. “But do not let this happen again.” With that she turned, and disappeared into the revelry.

“Wow,” I said. “I think I’m going to have a heart attack now.”

“Have one when the parade is over!” Soldier demanded. “Look! Floats!”

There certainly were floats. As the chatter died down, and everyone celebrated their good luck, I was left standing among my friends with a new appreciation, these people who’d stuck by me when it’d counted. They were a bit of a colorful bunch but, hey, who better to celebrate pride with than them?

[lazerlustt]

words ask: mouth, breath, finger(s), hand(s), neck?

thanks watch me post my entire drafts since you just hit everything i talk about ever

mouth

"He wiped his nose and felt half jellied blood smudge over his mouth and down down dow-ww-n his cheek. Help. Oh god, there's no fucking god to help this poor sick bastard, he dug his grave and this is how it ends." - vacant and stained

"The words were a little too mocking, a little too soft in his mouth and Wednesday let out a groan." - pulse

"Joey swallowed nervously when he heard Corey's laugh on the other side, his mouth twitching into an uncomfortable grimace as it was followed with a silence." - forgotten sore

"He blinked slow and turned to look him up and down, take him in, and put his eyes back on the road. There were still grey smears of facepaint on his cheeks and over his mouth." - it's fucking ihop

breath

"Corey swayed easily with the offer, evidently not needing anymore prodding as he immediately pulled into the lot. Didn't stop him from muttering under his breath like some irritable father when they parked, though." - document 2

finger(s)

"Corey's fingers couldn't steady enough to break the skin again, dropped the needle, picked it up, dropped it and it dangled from his arm." - vacant and stained

"She was there, he couldn't make this up in his mind, he felt her ring finger dancing idly over his ribs." - temperance

"Jimmy had draped himself over the edge of the stage dramatically, combing his fingers through his shitty bleached fringe and cupping his face." - stimmy fic that i STILL don't have a name for

"It took Joey a second to understand what he was getting at, but eventually dragging a finger over his own chin and feeling a slick smear of lipstick." - forgotten sore

"He'd done his best to make sure the kid was drinking something other than vodka and tried to keep him fed, he'd even learned to cook just to make sure that he got something in his stomach before they went up on stage, only to watch him consistently shove his fingers down his throat and puke it up on the crowd." - untitled

hand(s)

"Joey had his hand on the handle before the car was even unlocked, crawling out of Mick's lap and stumbling onto the concrete to hold the door." - document (drum rollllllll) 2

"Wednesday straightened back up, patting Joey's hand. Before he moved away, he rubbed his thumb over his chin." - forgotten sore (long fic i abandoned last month lol)

"Joey reached for her wrist, he needed the movement more than anything, it needed to hurt, but his hands glided through her as if she wasn't there." - temperance

neck

"It wasn't a bad kind of sweating, just really, really hot. Joey could feel the tinted fluorescents beating down on the back of his neck." - forgotten sore

[writerofshit]

How does anybody have a secret relationship with fahc Ryan with that facepaint, one ill-timed kiss and you've got evidence all over you. Like I just picture an exhausted Geoff being like "and you're /sure/ there's nothing going on with you and Ryan?" and Jeremy's standing there with smudged facepaint all around his mouth like "Geoff I'm hurt you think we would hide anything from you". Gavin insists Ryan does the laundry after any impromptu naps because Gavin's shirts always somehow get covered

Answer: They don't.

Although, the thing about the face paint is it gets everywhere. Every pillow and blanket in the penthouse has traces of it, nobody can tell old stains from new. Ryan has a habit of napping after heists, wherever he can find a quiet enough spot. The others ride the adrenaline high, celebrating with bevs or dinner etc, but Ryan knocks the fuck out. So there's always smears of face paint in various places.

It's a little telling though, that the timing of smears of red and black starting to appear on Jeremy and Gav's clothes coincides so neatly with with them falling out earlier and earlier from celebrations. Must be a weird coincidence, right?

Then the paint starts showing up in their hair, which Jeremy writes off as "wrestling, you know how it is." Except no? Geoff doesn't know how that is? He's wrestled with his fair share of people, Ryan included, and he's managed to avoid literal handprints on his ass, so??

But they're all adamant that there's nothing going on, so fine, Geoff trusts them to make good choices, apparently. Ok, but then why is your whole set up in the bathroom next to Gavin's room, Ryan? You set yourself up in the attic, that's literally the farthest place you could have chosen?? And everybody else does their own laundry, why is it that it's only you three who get mixed up??

When it finally does come out, after months of them blatantly sneaking around, everybody just shrugs. The three in question are flabbergasted as to how everyone is so chill about it, like they knew or something-

"They both have paint transfer on their necks, Ryan, and Gavin literally has it on his jeans. Doesn't take a genius to put it together."

[pynkhues]

It’s officially ~spooky szn~ which means we need a brio Halloween fic, pleaaasee!! Like can you imagine Beth insisting on making costumes for all five kids?? Anyways, even if you don’t have time for this just want you to know that I love your writing and I look forward to any and all fic updates :)

Thank you so much! And haha, happy spooky season, anon. Hope you like it. :-) 

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

“You know, I actually think it looks kind of cool,” Annie tells her, eyes on Beth’s blue-dyed fingers as Beth fiddles with her makeup palette, comparing the shades of skin toned foundation a few shades lighter than Annie’s own. “Like you’ve been finger banging one of those aliens from Avatar or something.”

And just - - god. Beth blanches before she can stop herself, stopping in her ministrations long enough to shoot Annie a look, before refocusing on the task at hand.

“Please never say that again,” Beth says, shaking her head as she throws a dash of grey face paint into her mixing palette with the foundation – gets it all thick and moonish. She tests it a little on her own hand before grabbing her make-up brush, lathering it up and starting on Annie’s face.

“Fine, sorry I’m trying to make your weird blue monster hands less terrifying.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth uses those weird blue monster hands to lay the first layer of ghoulish foundation on Annie’s face. It’s not like Beth isn’t used to it anyway – has dyed enough fabric in her time to know that dying your hands is just an unfortunate side effect. Still, she’s tried everything to get it off – all her tried and true measures, but nothing’s worked, so Beth has resigned herself to the fact that it’s just going to take time.

It’d all been worth it anyway – to see Marcus’ face light up as soon as his eyes had locked onto the Captain America costume. She feels like she’s spent the better part of the month making costumes – dying and sewing and cutting up fabrics, and sure, it’d been exhausting, but somehow not as exhausting as previous years, even with the extra one to make. And god, as weird as it is to think about, she’s pretty sure that that comes down to Rio more than anything else. The second he’d realised he couldn’t talk her out of making them from scratch herself, he’d been more helpful than she thinks even he’d realised – whether that was in organising dinner so she could work on them, or stopping by the craft store, or distracting the kids so she could work, or even just staying up with her, reading on the couch while Beth poured over her sewing machine, taking them both to bed when she stopped making any sense.

“All I’m saying is you could throw something together if you really wanted to come out with us,” Annie says, sucking in her lips when Beth does in instruction, twitching back when Beth paints the make-up hard over her mouth. And Beth knows she shouldn’t be annoyed by this – knows there’s no accusation there, no shame, more just a double check that Beth is really happy for Annie to take the kids trick or treating without her.

It’d become something of a tradition years ago – that Annie would show up and bundle all the kids together and take them out – her endless energy when candy was involved meaning they didn’t turn around until all the kids were dragging their feet, instead of after three or four houses when Beth’s own exhaustion from the lead-up would inevitably start begging her for bed. Annie was forever the Fun Aunt, and Beth was forever - - well, not the Boring Mom, but the Mom Mom. The mom you wanted making costumes, not the one you wanted tagging along to trick or treating and asking if you really needed that extra houseworth of candy, and honestly? Beth was pretty much fine with that.

Anyway, Annie had seemed extra keen this year.

(“With this new neighbourhood?” Annie had said with a scoff when she’d offered. “You know they’re handing out the good stuff, and Sadie deserves every opportunity to gorge on fancy candy as your kids do.”

“Sadie?” Beth asked, arching an eyebrow, and Annie had replied with a shit-eating grin.)

“I’m good,” Beth says now. “Seriously. I have a date with a glass of bourbon, a pizza and whatever spooky movie is playing on TV.”

“You know you don’t have to play Russian Roulette with basic cable anymore, you can actually like, choose your spooky movie now. It’s through this brand-new start-up – I think it’s called - - Netfilm - - no wait, Netflix, I think? Gotta tell you – I think those guys are onto something.”

Beth snorts, getting more make-up / facepaint onto her brush, and opening her mouth to reply, when Emma twirls back into the dining room, her golden dress billowing as she moves. She comes to a stop in front of Annie and Beth, who are sitting opposite each other on the same side of the dining room table – their chairs turned to face each other, the tools of Beth’s day – make-up, sewing kit, hot glue gun, curling iron, sprawled out across the table beside them.

“Mommy, I can’t find my tea set,” she says with a pout. “I want to take Mrs. Potts.”

Emma’s Belle costume from Beauty and the Beast had come together surprisingly well – or not surprising, Beth corrects herself, remembering Ruby’s words earlier that day (“What? Something you made looks amazing? Shocker. You gotta learn to own your talents, B, seriously.”). She’s good at this, after all, and she already had the fabric templates from Emma being Anna from Frozen last year (although Beth had added a few more layers to the Belle skirt to give it volume).

“I think it’s in the playroom, honey,” Beth says, and Emma darts out of the room in a puff of glitter hairspray and gold satin. Turning back to Annie, Beth grabs a small sponge, finds the bruise-purple eyeshadow she’d set aside earlier, only to blink at the look on her sister’s face.

“Okay, so, please remind me why we were robbing grocery stores when you can do that. That costume is - -” Annie kisses her fingers, and Beth grins, batting her hands away from her mouth.

“You’re going to smudge your make-up.”

Which wouldn’t be ideal, Beth thinks, shifting back in her seat. It’d be good to get the kids out of here – Annie’s the last one after all. Beth has already put the finishing touches on Kenny’s Hopper costume from Stranger Things (fake beard and all), Danny’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle one, and Jane’s, which was - - weird, to say the least. Or - - maybe not. The shiny-obsessed crab from Moana feels pretty on brand for her. Hell, she’d even put together Sadie’s - although deciding to go as Karl Marx meant it mostly only entailed getting him a suit which Annie had done, and finding the right wig and faux beard which fell strictly in Beth’s jurisdiction.

At the thought of Sadie, Beth glances out of the dining room, down into the living room, where he’s helping Danny play Jacks (Glenvale Elementary has a Retro Games Club, which is intensely sweet, but also makes Beth feel about a million years old. It’s not like she played Jacks, but she knew what it was.)

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the front door springing open, and she knows who it is from the delighted reactions on the kids’ faces more than anything else. Doesn’t see him though until he steps light-footed through the living room, carrying the seven plastic, pumpkin-head candy buckets and an enormous bag of ghost-shaped candies – each individually wrapped for any trick or treaters they might get tonight. She sighs in relief, mouthing a thank you as Rio spots her, tilting his chin up in acknowledgement. God, she can’t even believe she’d forgotten to pick them up in the stress of finishing the costumes.

Leaning down to fist bump Sadie, then Danny, Rio promptly gives Kenny the pumpkin buckets, directing him to pass them out to the other kids before they head out. Darting over into the dining room, Rio moves easily into Beth’s space, leaning down to give her a quick kiss that makes her blush despite herself, before glancing over at Annie, who’s zombie hillbilly look is almost complete.

“Thought you said your sister was wearin’ a costume?” Rio asks her, forehead furrowed in faux confusion, and Beth bites back a grin, rolls her eyes a little as Annie yanks out her prosthetic teeth to scoff.

“Funny,” Annie says with a snort, scowling over at Rio. “You should take that act on the - - wait. Was that a dad joke?”

Her jaw briefly hangs open, and Rio huffs out a laugh, adjusting his grip on the bag of candy in his arms and heading into the kitchen, away from them. It’s enough to make Annie surge up in her seat, briefly checking the kids aren’t listening before whisper yelling:  

“Don’t give up your day job as violent gangleader, I think your career in comedy is lacking!”

Rio just waves an arm out at her, jogging over to where Marcus and Jane are sprawled out on the kitchen floor, colouring in an enormous haunted house picture Beth had picked up from the PTA. They grin as they see him, and Rio ruffles Marcus’ perfectly quaffed Captain America hair just to make his son gasp, and then immediately starts laughing as he gets his first real look at Jane’s blinged out crab costume. Red cheeked and outraged at Rio’s response, Jane opens her mouth to yell, but then Rio’s swinging her up into his arms, rocking her around, making her cackle like a little lunatic, and just - -

Beth exhales happily, turns back to Annie only to pause.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Annie says, then shrugs, smiling. “Your face. Weirdo.”

“What?” Beth repeats, rubbing at her cheek, like there might be something on it, but she knows whatever Annie saw wasn’t - - well. Beth blushes, dips the sponge back in the bruise coloured eyeshadow and finishes the last one off. “I think I’m done, anyway, so you should probably get the kids out of here.”

“Sure sure,” Annie says knowingly, and when Beth squints at her, she adds: “So you can bone daddy over there.”

“Annie,” Beth groans, a bright flush finding her cheeks as Annie leaps to her feet, grabbing the vanity mirror off the table to check out Beth’s work.

“Not bad, not bad,” Annie says, shoving her prosthetic teeth back in and grinning at Beth in a way that just makes her shake her head, not quite able to hide the affection in her grin. With her messy hair and her pallid skin and her buck teeth and her flannel shirt - - she sort of has the zombie hillbilly look down.

“To the streets, my pretties,” Annie calls, and the kids seem to materialise around her like she’s summoned them, a bustle of energy and attention and joy, and Beth’s grin only falters when Annie leans down and adds: “I’ll text you when we’re on our way back so you can, y’know, hide your shame.”

With that, they’re all out the door and into the bustle of the night.

Beth huffs out a breath, briefly collapsing back into her seat at the dining room table, furiously swiping at her face, the exhaustion of the last few weeks finally catching up to her. Still, it had felt too good, giving them all what they wanted – her four and Marcus and Sadie and Annie too – making them feel so good. She can’t bite back her grin, can’t help but feel the worth in it, even as she leans forwards to start to bundle up her make-up and her craft supplies to pack away.

Only she’s interrupted when Rio suddenly leans over the table in front of her, his body bent as he eyes her off, lips twisted into a soft, barely-there grin. Beth raises an eyebrow at him, her fingers curling around her make-up brush again,

“Sorry, did you want me to do you too?” she asks, brandishing the brush in his face, and Rio rolls his eyes, but grins, pinching the brush from her fingers, grabbing a tissue from her collection to wipe off the last of the make-up. He makes neat, easy work of it and - - right, Beth reminds herself. Sisters.

“You gonna chill now?” he asks her, and it takes Beth a minute to process the words, to lean back in her seat, looking up at him, but then - - she nods, leaning back into her chair at the dining room table, folding her arms over her chest. She looks a little wistfully at the door, that contentedness she’d felt seeing them out of it warming in her belly all over again. But then again - - she wrinkles her nose. 

“At this time of year? Maybe for a week,” she says, her voice dry. “Thanksgiving is just around the corner, after all, and then there’s Christmas, and New Year’s too.”

She’d already found at least four new recipes she wanted to try too – experiments alongside old favourites. The menu for both Thanksgiving and Christmas already half-set in her head.  

“Thanksgivin’, we gonna go to my sister’s place.”

The words are enough to jerk Beth out of her own thoughts, to blink up at Rio, surprise evident in her look, and Rio stares back at her, then away, twirling the make-up brush in his hand.

“Carmen’s always wantin’ to host it, but she’s usually workin’ at the hospital. She got it off this year. Wanted to let her do her thing. Only found out yesterday.”

Beth turns the thought over in her head. It’s not that she’s adverse to it, rather - - she’s just not used to it. Annie’s never wanted to host, and Thanksgiving is the only holiday that Stan’s parents insist on, meaning Beth hasn’t had a Thanksgiving with Ruby since her and Stan were married. And after Dean’s dad died - - well, the expectation was that he’d host it, as the eldest son, and Dean hosting it always meant Beth hosting it, but - - but she’s not married to Dean anymore, she’s with Rio, and all the rules are out the window.

She looks back at Rio, who seems almost a little uncertain, like this wasn’t how he planned on broaching this with her, like maybe he expects a fight, and in the end - -

Well.

“We still have to take something,” Beth says, and Rio’s gaze darts up towards her, filled with a look that he gives her too often – something between amused and annoyed, before it gives way to something that’s just - - just deep and warm, and Beth can’t even begin to explain the feeling it unlocks in her own chest. But then Rio’s flicking the tip of her nose with the end of her make-up brush, and Beth rolls her eyes, going to grab it off him, but he holds it steadily out of her grip.

“I’m givin’ you a cap then, mami. One dessert, one side.”

“There are seven of us,” Beth counters easily. “Plus, Annie’ll need to come, so eight – maybe even nine if she has Sadie too.”

“Then Annie can go buy that nasty ass pasta salad she always does and bring that too.”

“Your son loves that nasty ass pasta salad.”

“He does, and if you don’t think I hold that against your sister, you kiddin’ yourself, darlin’.”

And Beth just laughs, wrinkling her nose, because the pasta salad really is awful, so she figures it’s fair, and her reaction is enough to make Rio boop her nose again with her make-up brush.

“One dessert, one side,” he repeats, dropping the brush back into her make-up bag before flicking off her hot glue gun and her curling iron. “That’s an order.”

And - - well, Beth arches an eyebrow at that, folding back into her seat, staring up at him, still mostly amused.

“An order?”

“Mmm,” he hums, pushing her crafting gear and make-up palettes aside before planting his ass on the table in front of her, kicking his legs out briefly like she’s seen Marcus do, before he’s knitting his hands together in front of him, dipping his head. “It’s a thing bosses do, yeah? Delegatin’. I know you’re allergic to it or somethin’, but - -”

“Last I checked, you weren’t the boss of me,” Beth interrupts, tone a lot less amused now, and Rio just laughs, the sound easy and lyrical in a way that makes her heart leap and also tells her that he fundamentally disagrees with that statement, and Beth rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to tell him all the ways he isn’t, when Rio smacks his hands down on his knees and looks over at her.

“So in all this craftin’ and knittin’ and stitchin’, you get yourself a costume?”

And just - - what? Beth blinks, head reeling back as she eyes Rio off. They’d had only the briefest conversations about Halloween – one that mostly revolved around the kids, or Annie (hell, she’d been surprised by the visible pleasure he’d taken in the prospect of Annie taking Marcus as a part of the Boland kid tradition, but then - - Marcus seems a little more enamoured with Annie than she thinks Rio’s realised). Still, she’d figured it wasn’t really his thing, and she’d been glad for it, particularly since Dean had always insisted on the goofiest, most embarrassing ways of celebrating it.

“I don’t really do costumes,” she says slowly, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, before pointedly looking behind himself at the stacks of fabric offcuts and the make-up and her sewing kit.

“I mean, for me,” she replies. “Honestly, I just always run out of time, and I can’t exactly just run out and buy something. Nothing ever fits.”

He lowers his gaze to her chest then, reaches out, hooks a finger in the top of her blouse in a way that makes her breath catch. He tilts his head from side-to-side, considering.

“Worse things than a shirt that don’t fit.”

And well – that’s enough to make Beth laugh out loud, her hand finding his wrist, pushing it out of her top.

“I’m not talking about sexy, tight things, I mean like - - buttons that won’t do up and like - - too much fabric in places, and not enough in others and - - okay, you are not hearing me at all.”

Because he’s not, if the hot, amused look on his face is anything to go by, and it figures, she thinks. Guys really don’t get the intricacies of how much women’s clothing has never seen a woman’s body. She hits his leg, and he laughs, head back, and her gaze travels his throat, the long line of his neck, and she really must be tired because all she can think about is how much she wants to lick it.

She shakes her head, cringing a little at herself, before she looks away from him, out across the dining room, towards the kitchen, where Jane and Marcus’ colouring in is still sprawled out across the floor.

“Did you want to dress up?” she asks Rio tentatively, because maybe he does, maybe she assumed too much, but then he barks on a laugh, and Beth jerks her head back around to look at him, wrinkled nose and all.

“Fuck no.”

“You just said - -”

“Wanna see you in a costume. Well,” he laughs hoarsely in a way that pools hot and low in her. “Want to get you into one to get you outta one.”

He hums a little, considering, and it really is incredible, she thinks, a little hysterically, how easily he seems to be able to undress her in every sense of the word.

“Nurse Elizabeth,” he drawls. “You could give me a bath.”

And god - - that pulls her out of any reverie. She knows him sick now, knows him fevered, knows exactly the kind of patient he is, and just - -  

“You would hate that,” Beth says, laughing, and he huffs out a breath, but agrees all the same.

“Hmm,” he tries instead. “Maybe a witch then, huh? Or a librarian?”

Beth snorts, looking up at him, and immediately regretting it. There’s a heat in his look that she’s too used to – but - - there’s something else too, something she can’t place, something that runs deeper, and she shifts a little in her seat, electricity bolting from her knee when he knocks it with his calf.

“Mermaid or some shit.”

“You are not creative with costumes,” she says, trying to lower her temperature, and Rio hums in agreement. The next thing she knows, he’s tugging her up by the arm, and Beth lets herself be tugged, lets him move her between his legs, lets him brush her hair back, lets him unbutton her blouse to her belly button, pull it open enough to press a kiss against the top of her chest.

“Panty model,” he decides, and Beth scoffs – a sound which quickly turns into a gasp when Rio bites the curve of her breast. “Centrefold.”

“You’d hate that too,” she breathes, and Rio laughs.

“Mmm, don’t want nobody else lookin’ at you,” he agrees, and Beth shivers when his hands slip around her back, unhooking her bra with a practiced ease. “Then shit, it’s just pretend, ain’t it? We ain’t us.”

“I like being us though,” Beth breathes, and Rio exhales against her breast.

“Me too, ma. Don’t mean I don’t want to see you in some sea shell bra though, huh?”

And that’s enough to make Beth laugh, to rock against him as he unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way, slips it off her shoulders, and pulls off her bra. He makes a sound in his throat which is just - - so pleased, and it makes Beth keen before she even realises she’s doing it, makes her breathless, makes her shift a little closer, and then he’s sucking a hickey into her breast, his hands groping at her ass, pulling her closer - - so close that his half-hard cock digs into her lower belly, and her own nails are scratching through his short hair, her panties soaking, and god, she thinks, this isn’t fair, how quickly they get here, how much this - -

A yelp suddenly pulls her from her thoughts, and Beth’s head jerks around to find Annie standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and her lips broken into a sort of mortified grin. Beth jerks backwards, covering herself, before changing her mind and throwing herself at Rio instead, poking her head up over his shoulder, using him as a human shield.

“Is this a haunted house, because this is certainly straight out of my nightmares,” Annie says, with a half laugh, and Beth scowls at her.

“What are you doing back here?!” she hisses, and Annie rolls her eyes, striding into the living room and plucking an orange pumpkin bucket off the coffee table.

“Relax, sis, I just forgot my candy collector, not to be confused with your vagina, or like - - gangfriend’s mouth right now, apparently.”

“Annie.”

“I’m going, I’m going, jeez, I thought you were supposed to lighten up when you were getting some on the regular.”

“Ain’t you babysittin’?” Rio asks sharply, hand at Beth’s back, pulling her safely into his chest, and Annie huffs out a breath.

“Yes, sir, I have briefly tagged Sadie in, but I’m going straight back. Right now, in fact. So. Anyway, enjoy your - - this.”

Annie steps back, and Beth glances up at her, her blush only deepening when Annie offers her a pointed thumbs up before disappearing back out the front door. Briefly, Beth hears the chatter of her children, of Marcus and Sadie too – buzzing with excitement still for the night and just - -  

“Oh my god,” Beth says with a groan, burying her face back in Rio’s shoulder, feeling him shift beneath her, before suddenly leaning back, heaving her up off her feet, on top of him on the table.

“Don’t stress,” he tells her, settling her weight on top of him, his fingers gliding over her thighs, briefly squeezing her ass, and Beth just laughs emptily, cringing, because god, Annie will never forget this, and there’s no way she won’t immediately tell Ruby - - hell, she’s probably already texted her.

“I - -”

“No,” Rio says beneath her, kissing her. “Nuh-uh.”

He kisses her again, longer this time, harder, and when it breaks, Beth blinks down at him, her cheeks still flushed, his hand warm now on her back.

“I will stress about it after.”

“I know,” Rio tells her, letting her push up off his chest, folding her arms across her own as she straddles him lightly.

“I can never sit with Annie at this table again.”  

“Don’t think about it too much.”

“I  - - ”  

“Elizabeth.”

Beth stops, looks down at him – at the length of him, his handsome face, his tapered torso. Her blush briefly deepens, the heat in her resparking.  

“We got maybe an hour and a half til they get back.”

She blinks, surprised, almost flails an arm out to gesture but then remembers that her arms are the only things covering her (and god – her hands are still so fucking blue). She shakes her head instead.  

“That’s a lot of time.”

Making a noise in the back of his throat like he disagrees, Rio lowers his hands, settling them on her hips. He nudges up against her, his cock shifting against her cunt through both their jeans, and really - - it shouldn’t be legal – how much she wants him.

“You ain’t got no costume,” he drawls after a moment. “But you can try me on if you want.”

And well - - that’s enough to make Beth snort. She looks down at him, wrinkling her nose, and Rio just gives her a shit eating grin in reply.

“That was bad,” she tells him, and he hums in agreement, before surging up and closing the distance between them.

“Yeah, but shit, ma. Works for us.”

And well, she thinks, pressing her lips hard against his.

He’s not wrong.

[marsupials-of-mars]

Night Terrors

Part three of my Dreams/Nightmares series (Dreams came first, then Nightmares, now this much later), because once Remus was revealed it was clear he should have totally been nightmares instead of Virgil but I worked him in anyway!

Contrary to Roman and Virgils nights with Thomas, Remus generally didn't talk much. Suprising really, considering his personality, but the videos they watched together had some auditory stimulus that he didn't dare interrupt. So he just enjoyed himself, lending his presence. He loved his Thomas nights, a full night to be good and nasty and Remus it up, loosen up after a long day, for Thomas to tire himself out for a good nights rest. A night all to himself and Thomas, what could be more fun?

But as all good things must come to an end, so too did his contributions. Thomas was tired, and that meant off went the explicit content, onto it's charger, and under the pillow. Remus whined. Sleep. What was it good for anyway? Just to waste time. He sank back into Thomas's subconscious and sulked over to the basement door. He yanked it open and practically oozed down the staircase. He didn't want to sleep that night. Sleep was boring, he wasn't even tired! He wasn't...

His eyes lit up at the realization. When a side wasn't tired it meant... Remus scrambled back up the stairs on all fours, bursting out the stairwell and into the hallway. And now that he was facing the right direction, it was clear as day. A black and hot pink door. Remus squealed.

Aint no rest for the wicked.

He skipped down the hall, overwhelmed with excitement. He didn't care much for the guy really, but he sure loved the work. He popped his knuckles, dagger-like claws bursting from his fingertips. He would have toyed with his coworker a bit but he didn't feel like wasting any time that night. He gouged his claws into the wood of the door, dragging them down its length with a terrible, grating noise.

"UP AND AT EM BEAUTYSLEEP, WAKEY WAKEY!" He pressed his ear to the door. Silence... but he could smell the fear.

"Okay, rude, I was willing to be polite but here goes." He sent his tentacles about the doorframe, their boneless, mucus-soaked nature letting them slip through the cracks and around the door in its entirety, effortlessly ripping it off its hinges. "See!? See what I gotta do when you bully me?" He waved the door around above his head before chucking it aside and retracting his slimy extremities back into his person. He locked eyes with a face of absolute horror and disgust, apparent even through the sunglasses. "Well I won't hold it too much against you Remy... after all, we're still NAME TWINS!" He finished in a singsong voice and fell into his host's arms.

"EW!" Remy gasped. He dropped him and quickly retreated backward until he was pressed against a wall. "Bitch, you will not TOUCH me, you will not SPEAK to me! WHY do I still not get some warning when one of you are coming?!" He hovered his contaminated arms far away from the rest of his body.

"Hey, I warned you! Warned you not to piss me off!" Remus giggled from his spot on the floor. "Cmon, you love me!"

"I don't! I really don't, I'd appreciate if you jumped in a lake! It'd at least be some sort of bath, you heathen." He sneered and whipped out a portable hand sanitizer. He started slathering his forearms extremely thoroughly.

"Aww, 'heathen'? You flatter me..." Remus brought his hands to his face as he blushed a warm shade of puke green.

"Whatever. WHATEVER. Get the job done and get OUT." Remy massaged his temples. He seemed to be going out of his way not to look in Remus's direction. It filled Remus's stomach with delighted butterflies. Maybe moths... mosquitoes? Mosquitoes sounded right.

"But REM!" Remus whined. "Last time Virgil was in here he left all pretty with face paint and claws-"

"Makeup and acrylics. Because we had a bonding moment. Acrylics are EARNED." He took a sip of his coffee. With a second thought he mumbled around the straw: "And don't call me Rem."

"Pleeease? Please with something hairy on top? I'll make it worth your while..." He bit his lip and winked. Remy nearly spit up his coffee.

"You need to CHILL."

"But I CAN'T! The only thing that could ever quell my madness is claws and facepaint! But alas..." Remus sighed dramatically and brought the back of his hand to his forehead. "You couldn't possibly provide such things..." He opened one eye and grinned when Remy groaned.

"Fine. FINE. But we're watching what I want." He grudgingly dragged his feet over to a cabinet by the TV and pulled out a makeup bag and a bin of nail supplies. "Wasting my best stuff on you..." He mumbled to himself at a volume that made it difficult for Remus to believe that he wasn't supposed to hear. Remus squealed and leapt onto the couch, giddy to be included, even more giddy that it was a grudging inclusion.

He was suddenly hit in the face with a container of wet wipes.

"I'm not touching your hands until you get that grime off, I'm not catching any diseases tonight." Remy pulled out a binder from a bin under the coffee table. The wipes quickly turned various shades of brown as Remus scrubbed his hands, but his attention was elsewhere, peering over Remy's shoulder.

"Whatcha got?"

Remy placed the binder gingerly on his lap. "Ideas."

As soon as Remus got a good look at it, he recognized his brother's calligraphy. He scrunched his nose. "So you and the Quest for Camel-snot are real besties aren'tcha?"

He knew that Roman had work with Remy too, but in the moment it kinda stung. He got the lights, did he really need the extras too? But Remus didn't really want Sleep, not his type. So it was fine, right?

"My closest girlfriend, bitch numero uno. He's a genius, really. Full binders of inspiration for every one of you." He flipped through the binder, double tabs color coordinated to each side, nails and makeup. Profiles and front views of each side's face in Roman's swoopy, perfect art style, graphite with oil pastel for color. Remus craned his neck to see.

"You're at the back. He has a lot of ideas for you, he talks about them a lot. Never gets around to drawing them up though, pretty sure it's personal. Gets uncomfortable drawing your face."

Remus ignored that last piece of commentary.

"Don't care, show me what he DID put in there! Probably awful, I could do better..."

Remy flipped to the green-tabbed page. There were three pages in the Remus section, contrasted against the five or more for every other side. But Remus wasn't focused on that. He was focused on the drawing: The palette was dark but bold, dark greens, black, metalics and greys. The look was extremely busy with intense, full mascara, black lipstick dusted with metallic green, tentacles curling from the eye flaring in the direction of the lashes and writhing down the side of the face. He was even crazy enough to scatter black rhinestones and silver glitter about, seemingly at random but somehow in just the right places. Remus stared at the drawing in awe. It entirely fit his aesthetic, minus the grime. The drawing still didn't quite look like him, though, and it broke Remus out of his trance to laugh out loud as he realized why. Roman had deliberately refused to draw in the mustache.

"What?" Remy squinted at him.

"He's so petty!" Remus conjured a pencil and scratched on some glorious facial hair in some frustratingly wobbly lines compared to Roman's. "There! There's my guy!" Remy grabbed the binder and clapped it shut.

"Ugh, you ruined it!" He opened the page back up and pouted.

"It's better now! Whatever, just fuck me up!" He sat up and closed his eyes, ready for beautification. He felt a wet wipe instead, though it wasn't like he was caught of gaurd by a sudden cold dampness to the face. "What are you doing?"

"You're so oily, if I tried to apply anything it'd roll right off like water on duck feathers. You owe an apology to your pores hun... and a shower."

"Nah I'd rather you keep with the wiping. Feels nice and sensual." He felt the scrubbing grow more hesitant and heard a quiet but exasperated sigh.

"Tell you what, if you can keep your feral little mouth shut for the next ten minutes I'll let you at the expired wine. It's real vinegary."

"Ooh!" Remus mimed zipping his lips and flicking away the key. Remy seemed suprised that his deal worked.

They sat in relative silence for a while, save for Remy's instructions for Remus to tilt his head one way or another, and the scrapes and clinks of makeup containers on the coffee table.

"Aaand...done!" Remy sat back and surveyed his work. Remus blinked.

"Wait I can't... I can't see..." His eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to look at his own face. Remy rolled his eyes.

"Cut it out, I've got a mirro-" Before he could reach under the coffee table, Remus had already plunged his fingers into his own eye sockets and torn his eyes from their nerves.

"HOLY SHIT-" Remy threw up in his mouth but managed to hold it back. Remus turned his eyes to look back at his face.

"Ooo well done! Though the eyes are a little smudged."

"Because you just mutilated your mascara with your fat knuckles you ANIMAL!" Remy grabbed Remus's wrist and pushed it back toward his face. "Back! Back in!"

Remus groaned and popped his eyes back in. He blinked rapidly as they resituated their orientation in his skull.

"I didn't even bleed, cmon, I'm being respectful of your work."

"Whatever, just sit still..." Remy pinned his shoulder to the couch and kept his legs down with a knee. He blended out some smudged eye shadow and reapplied the mascara. "There." He fell back onto the couch and massaged his eyes. "Now grab us some wine so I can make it through the rest of the night. Right of the fridge, top shelf."

Remus hopped up from the couch and twirled over to the cabinet. He found the bottle that had clearly been re-corked among the vast array and popped it open with his teeth. He waved it under his nose. Vinegar. He called over his shoulder; "You said I could have all the expired stuff?!"

"What else would I do with it? Grab me something."

Remus re-corked the bottle. He grabbed another bottle of red and a single wine glass and ran back to the couch. He cannonballed into the cushions with enough force to make Remy yelp and send out his arms to stabilize himself.

"Claws now!" He clapped his hands. Remy held up a finger.

"Just a sec, hon." He opened the fresh bottle and filled his glass. And kept filling. And kept filling. He tipped the bottle back just as he reached the brim. He took the glass gracefully and downed it in a single tilt. He let out a sigh of relief. "Mkay. Claws."

The next two hours were occupied with messy, drunk acrylic construction, trash reality TV, and half coherent conversations about either the meaning of life or over which two patent moms would get in a fistfight first based on their initial introductions. Remus could half remember Remy crying at some point over how bad the nails looked and how he was losing his gift, and another point where he ranted about how the other nail techs of the world better "step the fuck up or drop dead" at his sheer talent.

Remus began to come to, though barely. He pawed at Remy's shoulder. "Rem, Remmington, up up up! Got night terrors to make!"

Remy rolled over. His lips were smudged with black and metallic green. Remus didn't say anything, though silently cursed himself for having blacked out through that part.

"Hm? Nah bitch, you're on your own. Scary shit, not my cup of tea."

"You've got the assets!" Remus snorted at the word. "Yknow, the characters and stuff."

Remy groaned for a long time. "Fiiine." He rolled off the couch and followed Remus to the recording room. Remus attempted a cartwheel but fell over halfway through. He made it into the room at least. Remy snorted.

"GIRL! You're WORTHLESS!" He pulled a giggling Remus to his feet.

"Yeah..." Remus bounced from foot to foot. "Gimme!"

"Hold on a sec!" Remy yanked open a file cabinet and pulled out a handful of folders. "First choice..." He hiccuped. "Classic spiders."

"Cmon Rem, what kind of creativity would I be to keep using spiders every time?"

Remy thought. "A bad one?"

"Correct!" He reached into the folder and pulled out a spider. With a tap of his fingers he multiplied them into the thousands. "Next!"

Remy pulled out the next. "Sharks."

"Nah, that's just a sharp fish. Something GROSS, something WEIRD. Next!"

"Ummm...Thomas saw a dead mouse the other day. Part of it's belly smushed open."

"ZOMBIE! RATS!" Remus grabbed the mouse and threw it on the ground, instantly multiplying it into a writhing pile of the living dead, which quickly dispersed through the blackness, some eating spiders and the others being eaten by spiders. It was quite the beautiful display of the circle of life, but Remus wasn't thinking about that as much as he was thinking about how awesomely disgusting it was.

"MORE! Characters!"

"Mom! Fitness trainer! Mark from Rent! Moana!" Remy read off folder titles.

"All of them! To be CONSUMED BY THE ZOMBIE RATS!!!" He dumped the folders into the swarm of arachnid and gorey fur. Remy began to squint and avert his eyes. No matter how drunk, there was only so much he could take. "Last part! Setting!"

"We've got... woods behind our old elementary school, the underworld from the first Percy Jackson movie, and the church basement!"

"When presented with some form of hell, hell it is!" Remus grabbed the underworld folder and opened it to surround them with sweet sweet fire and the wails of the damned.

"Okay! Let's go!" He grabbed Remy's shoulder. He rewound the terror and hit play from the beginning before pulling Remy out the door. He slammed it behind them. Remy, who was just coming to, winced.

"You know you could have made the whole thing while it was paused?"

"What's the fun in that?"

Remy huffed. "Well, we're done. You can finally get out of my room.

"Do you really WANT me to though...?" Remus wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Remy with his elbow.

"Yeah. I REALLY want you to."

Remus gasped in offense. "Fine. Be that way. I had fun."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Well once I got drunk you weren't as bad. Take that as you will."

"I'll internalize that as a confession of your deep sexual attraction to me."

"Please don't."

"Too late!"

Remy grabbed Remus's shoulder and spun him towards the door.

"Just get out."

Remus snorted and made his way to the door. He stopped and turned back. "You might want to get your door fixed by the way. I don't want to alarm you," He put his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered. "But I think some idiot broke it."

Remy gestured for him to shoo. "Yeah. I'll look into it."

Remus grinned. He looked down at his acrylics for nearly the first time. They were wobbly and awful and sharp, like twisted daggers. Not what the sketchbook recommended, but better than Roman could have come up with anyway. He looked back up at Remy.

"Great. Bye name twin!"

"Good riddance."

[sorcererinthestars]

8 from Angst, 16 and 17 from Misc. Jeremwood

FAHC verse! Let’s see what we can do with these. Just as an FYI to all readers, these are written while I’m at work between jobs. I’m not editing them - I’m hardly even reading through them to be honest. Sorry if there’s errors or they’re just plain not great... I’m trying to get back into the flow of things! Prompts:   “Is that blood?” “…..No?”                  “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”                   “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.” WC: 674 words When the first slap came, Ryan knew he fucked up. When the shove came, he stumbled backwards and hit the couch, knees crumpling and falling back on it. The blood all over the front of his shirt was drying now, crusty. Jeremy wavered in front of him as the exhaustion hit, his form changing from four Jeremys to two to one solid man, looking like he was considering hitting him again. “Jeremy...,” he slurred. His exhaustion was making it hard to talk. That, and the absolute fury on Jeremy’s face. “Okay. Maybe I didn’t see that coming.” “You fucking...” Jeremy lowers his palm, shaking it out. The man was always a hit-first-ask-questions-later (if ever) sort of man. Really, Ryan should have expected the slap, especially since it was at about a sliver of Jeremy’s normal power. But he was tired. Hurt. He just wanted to kiss his boyfriend and find his bed, not... “Is that blood?” Jeremy asks, gesturing to the red all over Ryan’s front. “I know I didn’t fucking put that there. Explain. Now.” Ryan shakes his head again, as if to put sense into it. “No...?” he says weakly, even though he knew Jeremy knew what the fuck old blood looks like. Jeremy spat towards the floor. “What did I fucking tell you? What did I say? No more jobs, Haywood! No more fucking jobs without me! You don’t live the solo life anymore! We do things together or not at all!” “It was just a simple job...” Ryan slurs, blinking up at him. As if the blood all over his shirt wasn’t there. As if that much blood would come from a simple mugging. As if he didn’t explode a man’s head in front of him, didn’t get into a fucking firefight in the back alleys of LS, if the grisly murder scene he left behind wouldn’t make the news in about an hour. If he would have been fatally stabbed if he didn’t take a lucky step to the right and instead just got nicked and covered in spray. “I almost lost you last time,” Jeremy hisses, gritting his teeth and bending down over him. For a small man, Jeremy was the most intimidating person Ryan had ever seen. Especially when he rears back and punches Ryan on the shoulder, enough to make him grunt. He was holding back his punches, obviously. Not really wanting to hurt. But he was terrified. Ryan could see the tears in his eyes. “You said to be honest!” Ryan grunts. “Stop hitting me!” Jeremy pauses and leans back, swearing under his breath as he shook his head. “You’re impossible.” “I want to keep you safe,” Ryan retorts, sitting up as his head finally, blissfully, clears. “You don’t take the same jobs as the Vagabond. And this guy was supposed to be an easy hit. I didn’t realize that he had friends. I’m sorry, I should have...” “Either we die together or not at all,” Jeremy cut in. “Didn’t we promise that to each other? Aren’t I your battle buddy? I don’t want to fucking find you dead or dying in some shit alleyway, Haywood, not unless I’m sitting there next to you laughin’ at the fun we’ve had. Get it?” Ryan swallows. The earnestness in Jeremy’s voice was obvious. He let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Jer.” Jeremy lets out a sigh as well. “Yeah. I know. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He moves to step back, but Ryan grabs his arm, looking at him with wide eyes and smudged facepaint, sweat on his brow but love in his eyes. “I really, really am sorry. This is the last one. I promise.” Something changes on Jeremy’s face and his shoulders lose some of their tenseness. “Ass,” he huffs, but there’s a glint of a smile there. He leans down to steal a soft kiss, one Ryan eagerly returns.  “Did you at least make it good?” Jeremy asks when they part. Ryan’s smile was wicked. “Yeah, I believe I did.” 

[zayashmaya]

Gods and Monsters - 5 - Honeymoon (part 2).

Marvus x Reader; NSFW

More chapters here!

You get down with the clown, and the clown goes down on you.

Marvus spared no time for surprise. His hands instantly found their way around your waist and cradling the back of your head as he tilted his face sideways to deepen the kiss, moaning low from pleasure when your tongue dipped into his mouth. You very nearly had forgotten to breathe during your shameless, sloppy kissing, ignoring the taste of faygo and the metallic tinge of facepaint as you pressed yourself against him, winding your fingers in his thick mane of hair.

”Sir?” the intercom crackled.

Marvus tore away from you for a second to quickly answer, “Nevermind,” and you were drawn to each other once more in a haze of magnetic lust.

Your body was on fire. Where did your life go so right that you ended up in the lap of Alternia’s most handsome clown?

His lips were as soft as you anticipated, skillfully moving against yours with such precision that you knew he had practiced this many times, keeping his fangs hidden away in an effort to not hurt you. But that didn’t stop you from nipping his lower lip, earning a strange sort of rumble from deep within his chest, like an odd clicking noise that almost sounded like a purr.

Was that a good sign? Or did you hurt him? Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. 

Maybe you were being as stupid as Lanque said you were.

Before your anxiety had the chance to fully surface, Marvus hummed against your lips and eased the kiss to a gentle finish. Some of the white paint around his mouth had smudged and stained your cheeks. His hand came up to cradle your face as his thumb stroked the smear away. All you could do was stare back at him and pant, waiting for his verdict as his dilated eyes examined your messy state.

“What’s it gonna b, pretty lil mama?” he rasped.

This was it — one final confirmation before you got down with the clown. But you needed to be sure.

“I’m afraid of disappointing you,” you admitted, flushing at the admission. You could trust him with your emotions. You knew that much, at least.

His eyes widened, and the hand at your cheek glided down to rest on your shoulder. “Where is dis comin from?”

“W — well, there’s just so much I don’t know about your, like, anatomy, and stuff … I’ve only been with a troll once and it didn’t exactly go too well — “ Marvus quirked a brow and frowned slightly, but you pressed on. “ — so I don’t want you to think less of me if I do something wrong, or … I dunno.”

Rambling again. Go, you.

You promptly shut up and looked down at his ridiculous, loose bowtie, unable to meet his eyes. The soothing feeling of his other arm holding you securely reassured you that perhaps you didn’t fuck things up entirely by now.

“Babe, i dunno if u know dis, but a brotha ain’t ever been w a human either.”

Leave it to Marvus to crack a joke in the middle of a serious discussion. Your mouth pressed into a thin line, in sharp contrast with the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You lowered your head a little more and murmured, “That’s not a limiting factor for you trolls, apparently. Me, on the other hand … let’s just say my performance wasn’t rated that well.”

Your name rumbled forth, said so meaningfully and with a tone that coaxed you to finally look at him again. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” Marvus said, and your breath caught in your throat when you realized he had dropped his speech quirk for you. For you, to show you how serious he was.

You felt your walls breaking down, replaced with a dizzying excitement that set your nerves ablaze with desire for him. “I believe you,” you quietly replied, and after a moment of hesitation, you took the hand on your shoulder and pressed it to your breast, holding it there while Marvus gave an experimental squeeze. With an air of resolution, you steeled your willpower and said, “I want to pail with you, Marvus.”

His smile could not grow any wider. “We gonna go slow, baby,” he cooed, bringing his other hand to your neglected breast to tease out breathy moans from you. You arched into his touch and felt your eyes flutter shut. “Damn, u lucky dis da first time, or else i’d be takin u against the floor by now.”

Fuck, you liked the sound of that. Dirty images floated through your mind as you brought him down for a kiss, letting the tip of his tongue trace your lower lip while his hands skirted down your chest, smoothing their way down your sides, and curling up around the short hem of your dress with clear intent. You shifted in his lap to make your dress ride up your thighs, and after a teasing, gyrating grind from his hips against yours, you broke away from his lips to let him slide the dress off of you.

Thank goodness Tagora had convinced you to get rid of your tattered undergarments for the event. You had whined to him that nobody would even see you in a state of undress — they are so damn comfortable and you know I don’t have many clothes to begin with — which ended with him going on an endless tirade about not letting his friends look like hobos.

You’re going to look presentable because my good name is bound to you now, he had harped while ushering you into a boutique. And don’t worry, I fully expect you to compensate me for this expenditure at a later date.

So here you were, sporting a modest yet enticing set of matching undergarments. The fact that they had teal stitching had gone unnoticed in favor of Marvus caressing every inch of your skin,  skirting your sides and eliciting a squirm and stifled giggle from you. Gods, you were not about to repeat that scene. It couldn’t be a coincidence that two trolls had went for your sides like that. Damn you for your weaknesses.

But Marvus merely snickered and repeated his action, maneuvering his way through your wriggling and high-pitched yelps as you tried to swat his hands away. “U iz sensitive as fxxk,” he quipped.

“I can’t help it, cut it out!” you squealed with a laugh, struggling to pry his fingers off of you.

Marvus finally relented, opting to blindside you by pulling you against his chest and immediately burrowing his face into the crook of your shoulder, nipping teasing bites along your skin before transitioning to a wet, open-mouthed kiss near your jawline. You sighed and melted at how good it felt, squirming helplessly at the combined sensation of his scraping teeth and cold, soft tongue.

His hands snuck their way behind you to open the clasp of your bra with one brisk motion. Some distant part of your mind had enough sense to let the offending fabric slide off your arms to disappear somewhere. You were all the more happy for it, pressing your exposed breasts to his chest and reveling in how cold he felt against your nipples. He was still dressed, much to your frustration, but you were content to let Marvus explore your body for now.

You felt a snap along your thigh, followed by the brush of ruined fabric cascading down your sensitized skin as he hauled you up to sit on your knees, disconnecting from your neck with a wet pop. Your ruined undies remained looped around one leg, and with his widening stance forcing you to spread yourself for his curious gaze, you could do little more than blush and look away.  

The scenery outside had changed dramatically while you were preoccupied — the structural architecture of the highblood metropolis had been replaced with Alternian wilderness. You briefly wondered what to expect from Marvus’s hive, and then you remembered that you were still very much naked and currently at his mercy.

“Fxxkin beautiful,” he said at last, trailing his fingers down your breasts to tweak your nipples. “I ain’t never seen someone blush dis much, dat wicked redness b errywhere.” 

“Is that a bad thing … ?” you asked, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around you.

“No, babe,” he said softly. "That noise ain’t it at all.” His eyes wandered to your neck, and whatever he had seen made the corner of his lips turn upward. He reached out to graze it with the back of his knuckles, and the heightened sensation reminded you that he had probably marked you there with his kiss. “Bruise easy, too, don’t ya?”

“Something tells me that that’s enticing to you.”

“Wat can i say, i’m a humble rhyme juggler w simple taste.”

You chuckled dryly. “My body doesn’t freak you out, then?”

“Hellz no,” he instantly replied, gripping your hips and lightly running his thumbs dangerously close to your pussy. “Looks pretty familiar to me. Except dis — “ He poked your naval, and you doubled over with a yelp.

“It — it’s just something all humans have,” you explained quickly, fighting back your giggles. “But it’s not relevant to our situation right now, which is quickly becoming derailed by anatomy lessons.”

“Fxxk u rite babe, we gots to b rectifying dat posthaste.”

Before you could make sense of what was happening, Marvus swooped you up as he stood, only to put you down in his seat while he kneeled in front of you, spreading your legs and placing them on his shoulders. You were both mortified and aroused beyond belief as Marvus finally got a proper eyeful of your privates.

“What are you thinking?” you hesitantly asked.

Marvus ran his hands along the inside of your thighs and looked at you. Gods, you knew that expression well. It was the same look he had given you during your first meeting, when he pretended to stab you in front of a frenzied audience.

“I want u to touch yoself while i watch,” he smoothly replied with an air of finality, and you were absolutely scandalized, absolutely excited to follow his dirty command.

You slowly snaked your hand down your body, noting how his gaze followed your every move as you brought it closer and closer to your aching pussy.

And then, you had an idea. A risky, bold idea.

Your hand veered off course to hover in front of his mouth, and you stuck out two fingers for him. “Make them wet for me?” you shyly requested.

He obliged you with a cheeky smile, making a show of slowly running his tongue around your digits. You bit your lower lip and stifled a moan at the sensation, hoping he had far more interesting plans for that mouth rather than simply watch you get yourself off. But you had your orders, and as soon as he finished coating your fingers, you instantly got to work.

You nearly gasped when your slick fingers made contact with your clit; you didn’t even realize how turned on you were. Maybe it was simply the fact that Marvus’s spit was on you as you rubbed yourself in slow, teasing circles, or perhaps it was the way he stared so intently, like he was memorizing every motion, every hitched breath you took. You had never felt more exposed to someone before, and the fact that you were laying spread-eagle in a rich man’s limousine while he sat there looking like a starving dog had you nearly coming right then and there.

But Marvus was your audience, and you were going to put on a show for him. Your fingers moved quicker, more purposeful as you shivered from the slickness leaking down your inner thighs. Marvus spread one of your legs further out and began a trail of kisses toward where you needed him most, each kiss shooting sparks of pleasure to your pussy. Your hips rolled towards him in invitation, yet Marvus simply continued his torturous path on the other side.

Fine. If he didn’t want to oblige you, then you certainly would! With a low, petulant growl, you slipped past your aching folds and dove two fingers straight into your core, letting out an unrestrained moan at the delicious feeling of finally being stretched.

Marvus paused his ministrations and leaned his head against your thigh as he gave you his undivided attention. “O shit u do got a hole! Dat’s gunna b useful,” he snarked, and you accidentally nudged him none too gently while readjusting your position to give him a better view.

You felt your orgasm fast approaching, overstimulated as you were by now. “I need you, Marvus,” you breathed, pumping your fingers and hooking them at just the right angle to make you squirm. “I want you inside me, please, I can’t keep this up — “

You gasped as he suddenly held your legs apart and leaned over your form, his face inches away from yours. “If u want my bulge so bad, then u better finish,” he said, and before you could respond, his mouth was pressed to your bruised lips.

Your fingers moved inside you as your thumb rubbed your clit, and with Marvus leaning over you like this, it gave you the illusion that he was the one fucking you senseless. You were a moaning mess by the time he abandoned your lips in favor of sucking a nipple into his eager mouth, and that had been the last straw — you were coming with a drawn out cry, bucking your hips against your touch as Marvus looked down your chest to see your soaked fingers lazily stroking your folds to draw out your post-coital bliss.

“Fxxxxxk yesss,” he hissed. “Gaddam, lil mama, look at all dat genetic material soakin my seat.” You were too weak to correct him on the intricacies of human fluids. Thankfully, you didn’t need to muster up a retort. Marvus looked up at you with a wicked expression, and you knew he had something on his mind. "My turn now.”

You blinked at him, lost in a mental haze before his words registered. ”Please,” you whined, moving your hand out of the way and letting him return your legs to sit on his shoulders.

Marvus was kneeling again in a flash, his face so close to your pussy and yet so far. He had yet to begin his nefarious plan, opting to simply look at your privates for a moment longer. As frustrated as you were by the pause, you were equal parts titillated. What did he have in store for you? Would he start off with his fingers, or would he use his tongue? Maybe both?

Your prayers were answered when you felt the tip of his cold, wet tongue press lightly against your clit, swiping up and down in careful strokes. He looked at you as though in question, and you dug your heels into his shoulder blades to urge him on. With one final smirk, Marvus buried his face between your legs and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your folds.

Oh, that tongue was absolutely sinful, sliding around every inch of you before returning to your clit for a brief moment, circling around it just the way you had shown him. Yet just when you started to feel the telltale burn of a second orgasm, Marvus quickly removed his tongue and blew a puff of air against your heated flesh.

“You’re such a tease,” you whined, struggling to writhe against his hold on your hips.

His chuckle reverberated through your core as he dipped his tongue into your wet hole. “I like hearing ur lil moans,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to your clit. “C’mon babe, lemme hear sum more.”

And with that, his mouth latched onto your clit and sucked, sending your nerves on fire as he licked you with unyielding purpose now.

The sudden change nearly made you dizzy with lust. You dug your fingers into the armrests to keep from pulling on his hair as the tip of his downward horn grazed your inner thigh. The ambient music was drowned out by the sound of your shameless moans, and a distant part of you wondered if the driver could hear you, but when you felt Marvus dip a finger into your pussy, you lost all ability to think from that point onward.

“Oh gods, Marvus, give me more,” you groaned, bucking your hips as his finger slid inside you with ease. His lips and tongue were relentless in their attention to your clit, sucking and licking and kissing you while a second finger slipped in, and they were so much bigger than your own, so long and wide and just what you needed, just what you wanted —

Between bouts of helpless moans and breathy sighs, you told him, “Curl your fingers up, like — oh fuck yes like that!”

It was embarrassing, really, how just a few more well-placed thrusts and the swipe of his tongue sent you crashing into sheer ecstasy. You slumped back against the seat, panting for breath as your thighs trembled. Marvus eased you into a comfortable end as he slowed his thrusting and kissed your thigh.

“Fxxk … “ he muttered, dragging his bangs out of his face. “Lookit u all outta breath. Not even my shows get u dis werked up … “

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Your lips curled up into a tired smile as you looked at the horrid mess of his facepaint, nearly gone from most of his lower face and transferred to your inner thighs.

Marvus gently slipped his fingers out of you, examining the sticky wetness coating them before glancing back at you with a devilish smile. “Now look at wat u did,” he said with mock chastisement, bringing his fingers closer to your face. “Made a gaddamn mess all over me.” You felt him tap lightly against your lips, spreading the slickness along your bottom lip. “Guess u gotta clean em up for me, babe ;o) “

Without question, you let his fingers slip into your mouth, maintaining eye contact with him as you swiped your tongue along his digits and added a bit of suction for good measure. Marvus silently watched, pushing his fingers further and further into your mouth until you were nearly choking on them, but you were not about to make a fool of yourself. You relaxed your throat as best you could until he was all the way in to the last knuckle, and judging by the widened eyes and purple blush rising up beneath his ruined facepaint, you knew Marvus was impressed.

“Goood girl,” he cooed as he slowly slid his fingers out. You felt warm from the praise. “Didn’t expect u to b so hot all up inside u … got me thinkin sum sick thots … “

“I’d be happy to indulge your ideas,” you smoothly replied, because despite coming twice already, you were still greedy for more. In a sudden burst of inspiration, you sneaked your foot between his crouched legs to rub against his clothed groin. You were disappointed to discover the lack of bulge straining towards your touch, until you remembered that it was probably still sheathed away.

Marvus caught hold of your ankle and, much to your surprise, slowly rolled his hips against your foot with more pressure than you had awarded him with. “I wanna fxxkin pail u so hard u ain’t gunna walk strait for perigees,” he growled. “And u’ll take all of it, won’t u?”

“Gods, yes,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his bowtie and bringing him up to tower over you. He followed your lead obediently, staring down at you with hooded eyes. “Give it to me, Marvus.”

He hummed at your boldness. “Don’t u worry, u gonna get it soon, lil mama. But we gots to b gettin on outta here.”

His words were like a bucket of water pouring over you. “What?” you asked, sitting up straighter as Marvus leaned away from you to gather your belongings.

“We’re here, babe,” he said with a chuckle, handing you your clothing.

You furrowed your brows and looked outside. Indeed, the limo had apparently come to a stop. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

“I b believin, cuz if u did notice, then that means i wazn’t doing a good job earlier,” Marvus cheekily replied and winked.

You shook your head and refused to give him the satisfaction of laughing at his corniness, electing to quickly put on the dress and remove any errant white and gray paint streaks still on you. The bra and undies were useless to you; why bother with them when you’ll be naked all over again soon? You bundled them up in your hand to make them look like an indiscernible ball of cloth.

Marvus had apparently been waiting for you to finish, not wanting to expose you to his driver while you redressed. As soon as you finished you looked up at him with a smile, and there was just something about his dopy grin reflected back at you, all genuine and full of warmth and woefully absent of his beloved facepaint, that made you reach for him without thinking.

You stopped halfway, your hand hovering in the air between you. What the hell am I thinking? He’s not my lover.

Your face must have said it all. Marvus crossed the distance, grasping your hand and pressing it to his chest as he kissed you. You blushed at his brazen move and blinked up at him when he pulled back.

“Whoever da mfer that said u ain’t a good bucket buddy clearly got their head stuck up their gaddang shizhole.”

You giggled as he helped you up, passing by him while he grabbed the painting — you had almost forgotten about it — and gingerly opened the door.

The driver was waiting for you with an entirely neutral expression, holding the door and offering you a hand as you clumsily balanced yourself on weakened legs. You offered him a thankful smile and quickly moved away, hoping he hadn’t taken notice of your ruined state. Although being the personal driver of Marvus surely must have exposed him to all sorts of sights.

Once you smoothed out your dress and gathered your bearings, you finally took note of your surroundings. The limo had pulled up into a driveway lit up by an endless row of neon lights built into the ground. Before you loomed Marvus’s hive, an enormous, extravagant estate that looked like a cross between a beautiful villa and a circus tent, with towering spires crowning different segments of the hive.

The sheer size of it all reminded you of your current place in life — a wandering alien with few possessions and a dilapidated hideout. And yet, you didn’t begrudge Marvus. His success was hard-earned, and your heart swelled with pride at all he had accomplished.

So lost were you in thought that you didn’t notice him walking up behind you. His arm came around you and pulled you to his side, and you looked up at his smiling face. “U gravy, babe?”

“Yeah, just admiring your hive. It’s so … you.”

“Heh, u no it.” He stuck out his tongue. “Reddy to be pailed senseless?”

You nudged his side as you walked. “What happened to the eloquent Marvus I once knew? He seems to have been replaced with an uncouth heathen.”

“Whoaaa that’s a lotta big words coming from u.”

“And there’s gonna be something big coming in me soon.”

“Hehehe :o) “

Right before entering the hive, you picked up on a faint shushing sound, like the susurrus of water dancing along the shore. “Are we near a beach, by any chance?”

Marvus held the door open for you and ushered you inside. “Yep, we rite on one. I’ll show u later, got a nice view from the backyard.”

“That sounds lovely,” you absentmindedly remarked, your attention now drawn to the extravagant interior of the foyer.

It was equal parts stunning and ridiculous, like someone had bought out an Italian villa and violated it with spraypaint and garish portraits of carnival-related themes. Knowing Marvus, this was all probably a big ‘fuck you’ to the Alternian expectations of luxury and a reverent display of loyalty to his clown religion.

Really, you could go on and on about the intricacies of this beautiful hive all day. But you were here to get laid, and it was time to find a surface to get fucked on.  

“Let’s find a couch to ruin for the night,” you suggested, looking up at him with a determined expression.

Marvus let loose a loud laugh. “Strait to the point, i fxxks wit dat,” he said, and promptly led you up a wide flight of stairs that diverged into a split hallway at the top. There was a single door at the end of one corridor, and when you stepped inside, you instantly determined this was his bedroom.

There was a gigantic recuperacoon hanging from the ceiling, its opening slightly facing a balcony that showed the dark silhouette of the beach Marvus had mentioned. In the middle of one wall was a giant mantle with a huge flatscreen television, and you were happy to note the couch right across from it. There was a luxurious rug spread out on the floor as well. You were looking forward to desecrating it.

Marvus stepped away for a moment to set the painting down on a tabletop beside the mantle.

“I’m really impressed by your taste,” you started, because there was nothing quite like a bout of awkward, long-winded nonsense spewing forth from your reptilian brain. “The graffiti is a nice touch, by the way, it doesn’t clash with the rich aesthetic you’ve got going on at all.” Marvus was making his way back to you now. “I even noticed how much art you have, I didn’t peg you for a collector — oh!"

You were hoisted up into the air and pressed against Marvus’s chest. You yelped and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting your bra and undies fall to the floor. He looked at you amusingly. “U done?”

“Yes.”

“Kiss me.”

And you did.

Your arousal sprung back with a vengeance as soon as his lips were on you, moaning from the way his tongue tangled with yours and how tightly he held you to him while he carried you to the couch. And when he lowered you down, you reveled in the feeling of his solid chest pressing into you.

You swiftly removed your dress, eager to feel his body against you. Marvus followed suit, shucking off his jacket and tattered shirt in seconds, his thick mane of hair billowing around his shoulders from the motion. You pressed kisses to his chest in the meantime, working your way up past the grub scars as you lightly caressed the purple protrusions. Marvus pushed himself against you once more, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to grind against his crotch. You continued to kiss and suck anywhere your mouth latched on to, until your lips felt the brush of cloth.

The bowtie.

Oh, it looked absolutely ridiculous. You stuck your hands into his fluffy hair and searched for whatever held the bowtie together, intent on tearing it off.

Marvus paused and threw you a wry look. “Really, babe?”

“I can’t take you seriously with that thing on!”

He rolled his eyes and reached back, removing the accursed bowtie and throwing it aside. You awarded him with a grateful peck to the cheek. “The compromises i make for u,” he groused, yet you could have sworn you spotted a tinge of purple peeking through the facepaint.

“The pants have to come off, too,” you petulantly said.

“As u command, my righteous hunnie.” You scooted to the end of the couch and watched him get rid of his last bit of clothing, and you were suddenly very aware of how naked this insanely attractive man was. He looked at you with blatant desire in his gleaming eyes, holding out a hand in offering as he reclined against the back of the couch. “C’mere, i wanna feel how hot u are.”

You bit your lip and took his hand, letting him guide you into his lap once more. Something told you that you’d be in this position a lot from this point on.

Marvus wrapped his arms around you and pulled your body against his. You nuzzled your face into him, feeling your warmth seep into his unnaturally chilled skin. A deep rumble vibrated throughout his chest, and you instantly recalled that odd clicking from before.

“What is that sound?” you asked, looking up at him. “Is it something … good?”

“Wat, u ain’t never hear a troll purr before?” You shook your head. “It’s a very good thang, lil mama. I like how soft and warm u iz.”

You were feeling quite silly now. “I never imagined such a bloodthirsty species would do something this cute!”

He snorted. “I’m honored to b teachin u new shiz tonite.”

“Mhm.” Your eyes wandered down his chest. “I’m not done learning yet.”

Marvus tilted his head in question, and with a coy grin, you slid off his lap to nestle between his thighs. He spread his legs and stroked your cheek with the back of his knuckles, watching you run your fingers gently along the slits flushed a light shade of lilac at his crotch. Your fingertips came away with a wet coating, and you licked it inquisitively. It tasted rather nice, like a muted minty flavor.

Marvus must have took pity on you — or perhaps he was eager to speed things up — because his bulge retracted slowly from the upper slit, and you …

You were not prepared for how huge it would be.

It undulated like a tentacle, pulsing a bold purple and felt ridiculously cold as you tentatively wrapped your hand around the base. You could hardly close your fist around it, yet that did not stop you from stroking upward, feeling all of the bumps and ridges along the underside as you glided through its slickness. Marvus bucked against your touch and moaned low, staring down at you with dilated pupils.

“Keep going, baby,” he whispered, and you threw him a heated look before turning your attention elsewhere, keeping a firm hold on his bulge as you leaned in to run the broad, flat width of your tongue along the slit of his nook. “Oh, fxxk yeah, unf that tongue is like fire.”

You alternated between tender licks and open-mouthed kisses, absentmindedly moving your other hand up and down his squirming bulge. Marvus sweet-talked you all the while, muttering filthy words that had you wet and wanting for him all over again. You momentarily sought relief with your other hand, circling your clit and shoving two fingers inside you in time with your tongue dipping into his nook. His words trailed off into a breathy moan, growing steadily louder as you rubbed your tongue along the inner walls of his nook.

You removed your fingers from your pussy and licked one final, tortuous path up his slit, slowly entering his nook with your wet fingers as your tongue trailed along his bulge before wrapping your lips around the base and leaving sucking kisses wherever your mouth reached. Marvus threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, simply content to hold you while you freely sucked the tip of his bulge and added a third finger into his soaking nook.

“You’re a goddamn natural,” he rasped between panting breaths, his face flushed with a lovely shade of purple. “Suck on it just like that, u lookin so motherfxxkin fine on yo knees, baby.” You sucked his bulge deeper into your mouth, running your tongue along the underside as you struggled to get its thick length through your throat. Whatever you couldn’t reach was caressed by your other hand, gliding easily through its natural lubricant. ”Fxxxxxxkkkkk, oh f — fuck, that’s my good girl — “

His choked moan was all the warning you had before you felt his nook pulse against your fingers, followed by a gush of wetness coating your entire forearm. You slowly eased away from his bulge to inspect the mess, pumping him with teasing strokes. The genetic material was slippery and sticky, and when you licked it off the palm of your hand, it electrified your senses.

For once, the tables had turned — Marvus impatiently hauled you on top of him and smashed his lips against yours, licking away the taste of his essence from your tongue. You bit his lower lip none too gently, eliciting a growl and a smack to your behind. You gasped and arched your back, silently wishing he had aimed a little lower.

You tried to keep your sullied arm away from him, but Marvus grabbed hold of it and planted your hand right against the beating pulse of his blood pusher, sucking bruising kisses along your neck and collarbone. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, nearly overcome with desire as you felt the tip of his bulge slide through your folds.

”Marvus,” you whispered, trailing your wet hand upward to wrap loosely around his neck. “I need you inside me now.”

“Baby,” he cooed, gripping your hips to keep them still — “This bulge is yours to ride.” — and brought you down onto his thick length, throwing his head back as he cursed at your tight heat.

You let out a wordless cry and swore you were seeing stars.

Gods, he felt so fucking cold, and so endlessly huge. You were stretched to an impossible degree, feeling every ridge and bump rubbing up inside you.

Marvus dug his fingers into your back as he struggled to remain still. His bulge writhed within you, hitting spots so deep within you that you couldn’t help the broken moan wrenched from your throat.

“I ain’t never, n-e-v-e-r felt nethin this crazy,” he said in awe, staring up at the ceiling as though in deference to the messiahs themselves.

You glanced down between your legs and felt a chill run down your spine — he was only half-way in. You couldn’t possibly take more of him!

Yet before you could voice your concerns, his bulge appeared to twist and shift within you, like it was — like it was curling around itself — and you were sinking deeper and deeper, until you finally sat flush against his upper thighs —

You had no idea this was possible; Lanque never did anything like this when he had fucked you!

“Are you okay?” you shakily asked, smoothing your hands down his chest. “Does it hurt to do that? We — we can try a different way if — “

Marvus shushed you with a tender kiss to your forehead. “S’alrite, baby,” he rumbled. “I’ve done it before. What abt u?”

His hands ran up and down your sides as you shifted around his bulge, grinding against him gently until the twinge of pain became lost to pleasure. “I’m — I’m good,” you breathed, blushing at his pointed stare.

“Oh yeah?” Marvus grinned and rolled his hips, humming at your broken cry as he cupped the side of your face with one hand and kept a firm hold on your bottom with the other. “Talk to me lil mama, tell me what else u feelin.”

“I feel so full,” you whimpered, struggling to keep eye contact when he began slowly thrusting up into you. “I — I need more, I need you — “

Marvus tisked, circling and grinding his hips as his bulge writhed in undulating motions within you. “Ur fxxin greedy, u know that? Already got all of me up in u and ur lil nook is still tryin to take my bulge even deeper.”

You whined and met his thrusts with desperate desire, feeling the static sensations of pleasure coursing through your sensitized skin. This was nothing like your first time — you were stretched beyond your limits and you were an absolute wreck, but you were thriving under Marvus’s intense stare, licking your lip as you looked at him through hooded eyes and moaned his name like a prayer.

“Touch me,” you said, hoping he would catch your meaning, because your mind was too far gone to form coherent sentences. “Play with me, Marvus, come on baby, oh fuck yes!”

His thumb moved in tight circles on your clit as he angled your face up to dip his tongue into your mouth. You opened up for him with fervor, letting him steal your moans of bliss. The underside of his bulge twisted and writhed right against the one spot you taught him would end you, and within seconds you were crying out so loudly you might have gone hoarse —

Marvus pulled away from the kiss and kept your face close to his, his heavy breathing fanning across your heated skin. “That’s it,” he growled. “Lemme see ur pretty face when u come, lil mama.”

“Oh, Gods, Marvus!” His hand tightened in your hair. “M — Marvus, I — I’m so close, please don’t stop, please don’t stop — “

It was too much. It was all too damn much, and you were sent spiraling into the best orgasm of your entire life, pulsing around him as your nails dug into his flesh. His hand grabbed hold of your jaw and shoved his thumb into your open mouth, running it along your tongue until you bit down and sucked, rolling your hips to drag out the last remnants of pleasure as you slowly came down from your high.

Marvus held you so tightly that you were sure to get bruises later. He was lost to his own chase now, meeting your languid thrusts with powerful strokes. You reached up to run your fingers along the base of a horn, and suddenly his hand was gone from your face, gripping your waist to carefully slide out of you with as much grace as he could muster when he was so close to coming.

“Wh — wha — “ you stuttered, and just as you looked down, Marvus spilled himself all over his abdomen, groaning out obscenities and grinding his hips up into the air in search of more stimulation.

There was so much of it, pooling in the dips and curves of his torso like a purple river. Marvus fell back against the couch with a sigh and closed his eyes, his mouth turned up in a relaxed smile. You sat back on his thighs and ran your fingers through the hair at his temple, feeling your heart race when he leaned into your touch.

“U gunna b known as bucket babe in my contacts from now on,” he lazily droned, peeking at you through one eye.

You grinned. “Does that mean I did a good job?”

Marvus pulled you toward him and caught your lips in a soft kiss, neither of you having the strength for anything more. “I shud b askin u dat.”

You looked at him in shock, a blush blooming on your cheeks. Even now, he was showing his concern for you. You shyly nodded and elected to avoid answering in full, lest you start rambling again. Time for a diversion. “Marv, can I ask you something? It’s kind of … unconventional, but I think you can handle it.” He quirked a brow. “I once tried asking my friend but he washed my mouth with soap and kicked me out of his hive."

“Dayum, either he’s a high-strung prude or dis gonna b gud.”

“Okay, here goes. Since troll horns are kinda sensitive, do you guys ever put them up nooks?"

Marvus stared at you for a moment before launching into boisterous laughter. It was so deep and sonorous, and you couldn’t help smiling at him. You should make him laugh more often.

“I fuxxin knew u were a freak babe,” he said as his chuckling died down.

“It’s just an innocent hypothetical question!"

“Yea, innocent my effin rumpus. I bet u a million u’d wanna try that sick shit out.”

“ … well … “

“Omfg u wildin." You both descended into a fit of giggles. Marvus lightly patted your behind, running a hand through the wetness still all over him and brought it up to your view. “We gots to b gettin cleaned up, lil mama.”

You nodded and slid out of his lap, feeling a wave of slight discomfort starting to settle in between your legs. You were going to be sore for a few days after this, but you were too blissed out to care.

The bathroom appeared to be down a doorway beside the mantle. You trailed after him, eager to wash off and let the hot water soothe your muscle aches.

And then you spotted the painting, your terrified expression staring back at you.

Look at how far you’ve come.

As though reading your mind, Marvus paused beside the painting, looked at the genetic material sticking to his fingers, and swiped it onto the featureless nether regions of your cowering figure. He didn’t even look back at you after such a scandalous gesture, going on about his business as though that had been a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

You glanced at the ruined painting, and decided that, perhaps … it wasn’t ruined now, but rather, very fitting.