#they may be niche but I love them both so

[herecirmsims]

Little Hairdresser

Yet another niche set of poses that I made for my story. This one was actually the sequence before this posepack, so you can use both together if you like - the first adult is seated in the same position in both.

Pack contains 6 paired poses plus all-in-ones for a child braiding an adult's hair, sharing an unhappy conversation, and then responding to someone else who's entered the room.

The adult poses were made with a masc frame and as always there may be clipping or floating depending on Sim clothing or body type.

You will need: - Pose Player - Teleport Any Sim - any double bed (place teleporters in centre, facing bottom of bed). Sims are sitting on the bottom of the bed so there may be clipping depending on bed frame used

Optional requirement: V4 of the Bedelia hair by Simstrouble (you may need to adjust tags to make it show up on masc frame). If you're clever with angles you should be able to use the poses with most high bun/ponytail hairstyles, though.

Download here (always free): SFS | Patreon

TOU: you may adjust for personal use to avoid clipping etc., but please do not reupload/paywall/claim as your own.

I’d love to see them used! You can tag me on Bluesky, Instagram, or Tumblr. I repost. ❤️

You can easily browse more of my posepacks using my Ko-Fi gallery. Want to commission me and help support my work? Details here! I've also finally made a Google doc so it's now much easier to send in your free requests and suggestions - you can find that here.

@ts4-poses @alwaysfreecc

[darabeatha]

/ I've noticed that at this point I'm not even writing on any blog anymore, I just come and yell about some blorbo and leave. Rinse and repeat my lieges

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one in a million when i watch smthing in the horror genre and don't end up disappointed to/and/or pissed off about it so like "also yeah i liked it. ooo" is like relative to that an off the charts rave review of media of the millennium. also i did think about mh a lot along the way so would recommend its affect/effect if you like mh's horror too

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances. 

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done?  he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals. 

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you. 

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not. 

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone. 

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls. 

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down. 

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body. 

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

© httpsserene 2023

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[cdbabymp3]

Having thoughts about hamzahs hands and arms likeeeee… sexy. Just him always touching you and u love when he puts his arms around you.

𐙚hands & arms ― hamzahthefantastic

notes/warnings: sfw & nsfw hc's !! i did indicate where the nsfw portion starts though so if you just wanna read the sfw you can ! slight mention of weed lol (i kinda went overboard w this ... 🤒)

[unedited]

sfw

-boy's got the prettiest hands evaaa 🌟

-he's extremely touch deprived so he's gotta be holding your hand at all times

-in the winter when it's absolutely freezing, he'll take your hands in his and blow hot air, rubbing them to create friction 😭 he's so corny i love him

-if you guys are high, he'll compare the size of your hands with his for the millionth time and act surprised (his are muchhh larger)

"whaaaattt oh my goddd y/n you're like a little alien !!"

-he likes to cradle your face when you kiss, generally just needs to hold you in any given situation

-you could be reaching for something above you in the kitchen and he feels the need to keep a hand on the small of your back like he's spotting you at the gym BYEEE

-when he first met your parents for dinner, he had a hand on your thigh the whole night. if there was a brief pause in the conversation or he didn't know the answer to a question your dad asked, he'd squeeze your thigh for help

-likes when you kiss his knuckles and fingertips, it never fails to bring a smile to his face and he always returns the favor

-this is probably super niche but i feel like he's good with his hands ??? not even sexually (well-yes but we'll get to that in a sec...) but just able to open difficult things that are too tedious for you

-he has a very steady hand is what i'm trying to say... so if the clasps of your bra are being difficult or there's a random knot in your earbuds he's your guy ! 😁

-again, maybe too niche, but he's a fast typer as well

-if you have a huge essay due and you're exhausted, just tell him what you want to say and he'll put his slutty little glasses on and type if out for you so fucking quick bc that's bf !! 💘

-now his arms ...

-he thinks he's not that strong but oh he definitely is

-can open anything for you, even those annoying ass sauce jars that are literally airtight

-THIS BOY'S A TEASE THOUGH so yes you will have to SHOW HIM that you tried to open it and then he'll be like "ok fine lemme do it 😒"

-okay he hates the whole hyper-masculine mentality of a girl making a man feel manly butttt there is one exception: when you guys are walking together and you hold onto his bicep ... goes fucking crazy for that

-he likes to pick you up all the time !! during fights, when he gets home from filming, when you tell him good news, etc. etc.

-you could be in the middle of a stupid argument where both of y'all are just being petty for nothing and you know it, so he'll pick you up while you're cussing him out and put you over his shoulder

-you protest at first, demanding he put you down, but then he'll spin you a bit to make you laugh and get over whatever y'all were fighting about

-piggyback rides and carrying you bridal style are a must

-yes, he let's you do the tiktok trend where you tie a ribbon around his bicep. no, he does not let you post it.

nsfw

-driving hamzah driving hamzah DRIVING HAMZAH !!! one hand on the steering wheel, the other on your inner thigh with the most innocent expression on his face as his fingers creep towards where you need him

-likes when you suck on his fingers mhm mhm he will NOT break eye contact when you do it

-WILL interlock fingers with yours when he eats you out, he needs the intimacy

-very skilled with his hands as i mentioned earlier ...

-he may be an inexperienced bachelor but this boy knows where the clit is and how to circle it just right

-since it took a while for you guys to actually fuck in your relationship (bc he wanted to take things slow) fingering was his go-to and jesus christ is he good at it 🪦

-his fingers are fairly long and thicker than yours so he's curling them and reaching all the right spots

-his hands are calloused from lifting and it's hot !! this is smth i won't negotiate

-when he's caressing your thighs and ass you can feel how rough they are in certain areas and it only adds to the stimulation

-he will lightly hold your neck when you guys makeout, not quite enough to choke you though, he's so cute

-ARMS ARMS ARMS ARMS MY WEAKNESS 🐺

-can definitely toss you around if you get what i mean ...

-it's always jokingly though, he'd never want to actually hurt you so he doesn't use his full strength

-if you've been at a party together and are dying to get home to be alone he will speed back to his place, slam the door behind you, pick you up to walk over and throw you onto his bed, laughing at how horny both of you are

-can literally lift your weight with one hand, so if you guys are kissing on the couch and want to switch to his bed, it's light work for him

-hates himself for it but he does have a hint of a size/strength kink that i don't think he'd ever openly admit lmao

-looooovesss when you grab for his biceps during the initial thrust into you ... DONT GET ME STARTED

-hugs you from behind 😵‍💫 he knows how much it turns you on

-like you're super focused on something and he'll walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your body, swaying you side to side to distract you

"hamzah..." you warn

"what???" he always plays dumb

^this almost always ends in making out and/or hooking up

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა taglist ; @forevergirlposts

(lmk if u wanna be added, luvs!!)

[tokutaiseichan]

List of Tokyo Debunker Fandom Tags & Yume/MC Ships Guides to Help You Navigate Twitter

Since the fandom is growing, I feel like it'd be handy to have a list like this. Please note that some of the tags below don't actually exist yet! I just compiled it using my knowledge from previous fandoms.

#東ディバ絵札 (toudiba efuda) - General fanart tag. It's usually frowned upon to upload shippy art on the main tag (no matter what kind. Yes, yume included) so please be careful!

#tkdb夢 (tkdb yume) / #東ディバ夢 (toudiba yume) - General yume tag. Scopes including both Character x default MC and OC x Canon.

#tkdbプラス (tkdb plus) - Often used interchangeably with #tkdb夢. Yume works posted with this tag have the general "sweet romance" feel.

#病みのtkdbプラス (yami no tkdb plus) - For yume works where the canon character is depicted as a yandere / harboring some kind of twisted love for the yume MC. Sometimes used together with #tkdbマイナス tag if the scenario fits.

#tkdbマイナス (tkdb minus) - For yume works that deal with more niche, darker themes generally unsuitable with the positive vibes of plus yume works. Themes vary including but not limited to: forever one-sided feelings, angst, character death, break up, domestic violence, cheating, bad / merry bad endings, gore, etc. Basically if you see works tagged as this, that'd be your Dead Dove: Do Not Eat warning.

#夜のtkdbプラス (yoru no tkdb plus) - General R-18 yume works.

特待生ちゃん (tokutaisei-chan) - Honor Student / The MC. Since Tokyo Debunker MC doesn't have a default name, this is usually how the fans refer to her when talking about her. The canon MC, if you will.

創作特待生 (sousaku tokutaisei) - Original rendition of the Honor Student. Visual design, personality, gender, and backstory may be different to the canon MC.

創作寮生 (sousaku ryousei) - Original (Darkwick) Student that's completely separate from the Honor Student. This term isn't exclusive to Tokyo Debunker so if you only put "創作寮生" on the search bar you'll get OCs from other franchises too (Twisted Wonderland & Harry Potter, to name a few).

Some character x canon MC ship names

冠特 (kamutoku) - Jin x Honor Student

伯特 (hatoku / hakutoku) - Haku x Honor Student

翔特 (shoutoku) - Sho x Honor Student

Those three are currently the only ones popular enough to have people using a dedicated ship names when making works about them. If you want to see the other characters x canon MC ship works, you'll have better luck searching "#tkdb夢 / #tkdbプラス + (character's name)" instead.

As for canon x canon character ships, usually a fandom would create specific 腐 tag for it (like #ツイ腐テ for twst) but since the fandom is still pretty small, I don't think anyone has came up with a proper 腐 tag for Tokyo Debunker. I could've just missed it tho, since I only follow people who post yume and general non-shippy works so feel free to let me know!

For now, you can try your luck by combining the first kanji of two characters' given name. Keep in mind that Japanese fandom is usually much more strict about ship naming tho. AB ≠ BA!

I think that's all of it for now. Thank you for reading! I'll leave a kitty Rui here so you can stare at how cute he is~ ;3c

[slutforwholesomeness]

Mindless Pleasure

CW: CNC, edging, hypnosis, TFxM

Laying on her bed, Erin eagerly waits for her boyfriend to pick up the phone. They've been in a long-distance relationship for a year, but she still gets butterflies at the thought of hearing his voice. The ping of him joining the call makes her smile, as his voice comes through her headphones.

"Well hello, is this the pretty girl hotline?"

She can't help but giggle. It's a line she's already heard a dozen times, but he delivers it so sincerely it almost makes her blush.

"Yeah it is sir, how may I help you today?" she replies, trying to hide the smile in her voice.

"Well, I was hoping to speak to the prettiest girl of them all? I think her name was Erin? She's got a super pretty voice, and she's so cute, and she's got such a hot body..."

Erin squeals a little at the praise, trying to ignore the neediness building between her legs with each compliment. "Tobyyyyyyy, stoppppppp!"

He chuckles on the other end of the phone, his voice a husky purr in her ears

"So adorable... I love you so much, sweetheart~"

Erin bites her lip. Gosh, even his pet names make her heart flutter...

"Yeah well, I love you too!" she declares back, the stress of work today sliding off her shoulders a little. She feels so safe with him, and so beautiful... Something must have changed in her voice, because his next question is dripping with lewd intent.

"Baby, you sound a little stressed... would you like me to hypnotize you?"

She shivers. Hypnosis had always been a more niche kink of hers, but Toby absolutely loved it. He'd sent her a file that helped her sleep, but she suspected that it was also planting triggers deep inside her head. God, she hoped he was planting triggers deep inside her head...

"Yes..." she whispers, rubbing her thighs together.

"Good..." His voice is hushed, whispering seductively. This is the voice he used to hypnotize her, and her body knows it. Her clit twitches and she obeys his commands as he gives them "... now get comfortable for me, and close your eyes... let your breathing slip into a deep, even pattern, whatever is most comfortable..." It's almost instinct at this point. Her head feels light and fuzzy, and he begins to relax her body. "Focus on my voice... just like that..."

It feels so good to obey his commands. It makes her feel owned, in the best way. And he begins to drop her into trance.

"My voice is like a warm, weighted blanket... it wraps around your body, holding you down, so heavy, but comfortable... and while it pins you down, it squeezes alllll the tension out of your muscles... no more tension, no more stress, no more worries... and despite this heavy, warm weighted blanket, letting go of that stress makes your body feel so light and floaty..."

Her head is fuzzy. That means it's working for sure. She listens to his words, drifting away as the warm, comfortable sensation glides up her body, from her toes to her heels, heels to knees, knees to thighs, thighs to... waist... to chest... to shoulders... to... neck... to...

"Drop Deep"

...

Erin shakes her head sleepily. A glance at her phone tells her it's been twenty minutes. She lets out a soft moan.

"Darling? Are you there?" Toby asks.

Erin nods groggily "Mhm..."

"And how do you feel?"

Erin blinks, waking up more with each passing second. She feels sleepy, but also...

"H-horny" she gasps "horny and n-needy..."

Toby giggles. "Yeah? Needy? Does my needy puppy want her vibe?"

Moaning, Erin almost falls off her bed, scrambling to reach her hush. She grabs it, then slides the vibrator into her panties, positioning it against her clit just right...

"Please, please, I'm ready..." she begs, and he answers her pleas with a steady, pulsing pattern that makes her squirm and pant. For a minute, they both just bask in it, their dominance and submission perfectly intertwined as Erin's gasps get increasingly heated. "M-more, please turn it uppppp Master..." She whines. Toby obliges with a small giggle.

"So desperate... you're a needy slut, aren't you?" Her moan is the only reply he needs, sliding the pattern up from low to medium, the Lovense buzzing louder. Erin has to cover her mouth to stop her loud moans from leaking past her fingers, but GODS why did this feel so good today?

"Now darling, I'm going to say something very important, so it's means a lot if you'd listen to me, okay?"

Erin nods, then moans, then lets out a quiet noise of affirmation. Toby's voice cuts through the pleasure, through the noise in her mind, reaching something deep inside.

"Good Bimbo~"

With those two words, her brain goes blank. Her hips buck into the endless buzzing pleasure, trapped between her panties and her drooling clit, and it's all she knows. Everything is bliss. Everything is pleasure. Her mind is totally empty. She giggles between moans, but it's still not enough. "M-m-moreeeeee~" the Good Bimbo groans. And Master gives her more, forcing her to the brink of orgasm is seconds as the vibrator ramps up.

All she does for a moment is gasp and squirm, before words blurt from her lips. "Close, close, I'm close, Master I'm closeeeeeeee~"

And the vibe shuts off, leaving the pretty bimbo edged and dumb and drooling. Master whispers to her, telling her what a Good Bimbo she is, and how happy she makes him. He asks if she wants to be edged again and she giggles.

"Lyke, yeah! But uhm, only lyke, one more time? Uhm, yes please master!" The uncontrollable bout of giggles that leaves her lips feels so right, as does Master responding in her ear, reminding her what a Good Bimbo she is, before the vibe turns back on, nice and high. She reaches edge in no time, begging and panting for him to turn it down, she's so close, so so close Masterrrrr, and he does as she asks. And he explains something for her.

"Now, you said just one more edge? Are you ready for one more edge?"

Something inside her silly brain didn't think that was right, so she told him, but Master just laughed it off. "You're just a Good Bimbo, remember? Let me be the smart one, you're too pretty to be smart~" He was right, of course, she was sooooo pretty, and that makes her sooooo dumb. She giggles, so glad that Master can tell her what to do, as the vibe starts up again.

...

Just... just one more time... the bimbo reminds herself, as another edge buries her mind in pleasure. Just... one more edge... Master's voice interrupts all her dumb, bimbo thoughts, and her clit twitches in response.

"You've been such a Good Bimbo for me... I think you deserve your reward... my Good Girl~'

Oh gods, those words... It felt like an electric current of pure pleasure just surged through her body. Her dumb clit spurts out another few drops of pre, expanding the damp spot on her panties. She gasps in mindless bliss. And the vibe starts up again, barely. The speed is slow, weak teasing pulses to really melt her into a messy little pet for Master... All the while, he whispers delicate triggers in her ears, "Good Bimbo, what a Good Girl, you're such a Good Bimbo, my Good Girl~"

The praise and triggers and vibe slowly get louder, and her minds gets messier, one thought slipping into her empty head. Good Girls don't cum... without permission. So as the edge approaches again, she begs and babbles and whimpers, oh PLEASE Master, please let me cum I've been so good, such a Good Bimbo and such a Good Girl and I need to cum I'm so needy I know I'm a slut so just let me cum, let me cum, LET ME CUMMMM, and Master's voice purrs back, that she's right, she's been a VERY Good Girl and so she should cum, cum for me, cum right now, that's it, Good Girl, cum for me, cum for Master, and now the vibe is on full intensity, her legs are shaking and her clit is aching from so much edging but she cums, her dumb clit drooling all over itself as the sensation of finally cumming blanks her mind entirely and...

...

She comes back to her senses begging him to turn the vibe off, her overstimulated clitty can't take any more, and her sweet, kind, wonderful Master turns it down, then off completely, and the compliments start flooding in, of how well she did, how proud he is. Despite the distance, she can feel his arms around her, snuggling her until her mind is less fuzzy, and she can think for herself again. Master becomes Toby in her thoughts again, as they exchange "I love you"s and kisses in her blissful afterglow. Everything is okay. Everything is alright. Go grab a drink of water sweetheart, we can keep talking when you get back. As she leaves the call to get a drink and clear her fuzzy head, she smiles, and giggles, and knows that she's truly found her soulmate ❤️

[musicalmoritz]

The common misconception that Akane has no personality outside of Aoi is a sign of immaturity among many fans, in my opinion. This isn’t really their fault, seeing as the majority of the tbhk fandom is on the younger side, but it’s still something that should be noted

When people say this, they are talking about his hobbies. It’s true that every hobby Akane has is something he started to impress Aoi. I’m of the firm belief that he stayed on the Student Council because he enjoys it but that’s slightly up to interpretation (it could also be a way for Teru to keep an eye on him). However, in general, Akane doesn’t seem to have much going on outside of Aoi. His favorite food is something he imagines her baking for him, he joins clubs based on what type of guys she shows interest in, the books he reads all have a character that shares her name, and when she asks him what he enjoys, his response is “I like you, Aoi.” He’s even shown to zone out of conversations when Aoi isn’t mentioned. This is clearly unhealthy, though he does eventually learn to give her some distance which is beneficial to the both of them. But he still doesn’t seem to actively engage in hobbies that have nothing to do with Aoi

This is a consistent character flaw, but it does not mean Akane has no personality or character outside of Aoi. This is where the immaturity bit comes in, kids want to describe themselves entirely based on their interests. With the rise of fan culture and the internet, many adults do the same. It’s not just a young people problem, it’s an issue of how we identify ourselves. We like to put people into categories, understanding them based on their hobbies and careers. These are very important elements of identity, but they aren’t everything. A person with no job and no hobbies is still a person. They might struggle due to having no outlet for their creativity, but they are a person nonetheless

Fandoms notoriously love to understand characters based on their niche interests. Aoi is a gardener, Hanako loves the moon, Nene plays idol games, Teru has a very sad life. These are absolutely elements of their characters, but there’s more to them than their hobbies. They have personalities too, goals and passions outside of what they do in their free time

Akane puts his all into helping others, he takes his Student Council duties very seriously and keeps his hands full during every school event. He is a very empathetic character, able to understand characters like Aoi, Teru, and Nene without them having to tell him what they need. He’s competitive, as seen in his friendship with Teru. He’s romantic, as is the driving force of his character (and romance is a perfectly acceptable goal, marriage is one of the most common things for a person to strive towards in life). He’s violent and overprotective, striking down any man who makes Aoi uncomfortable. He’s emotional, prone to fits of joy, anger, and tears. He’s easily annoyed and carries a chip on his shoulder, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to help people. He hates supernaturals because of how they hurt others, and despite his stance as a School Mystery, he is so painstakingly human. He can be aggressive, especially when someone he loves is trying to do something self-destructive. He cares so deeply for people, wearing his heart on his sleeve. He’d stay up all night playing video games if it made the girl he loves happy, but he won’t attack Teru for having genuine feelings for her. He’s incredibly loyal. He’s also casually bisexual so there’s that

Idk there’s just so much more to Akane’s character than people give him credit for, I didn’t even cover everything. Remember when you’re analyzing a character, it’s important to look deeper than “they enjoy this” or “this is their job.” Akane may devote so much of his life to Aoi, but he is still his own person, whether he realizes that or not

I am begging ya’ll to stop throwing the “no character outside of Aoi” allegations at this man

[pureastrologywisdom]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔰 - 𝔏𝔢𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔮𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔰

I wanted to write about the axis of Aquarius and Leo because I often her people ask how these sister signs are similar. The first thing I want to point out is both these signs want to be known or known for something. It may be a more obvious trait for Leos but both want to stand out, and enjoy standing out from a crowd. The way they go about it can come across differently.

They both want to be seen in a certain way.

Leo is the stereotypical performer, the popular, the trendy. Aquarius has a stereotype of the eccentric, the outcast. If you think about it you need this polarity in life. 

For example, You have the fashion where it’s mainstream and everybody views it and wants it, and you have the fashion where everyones views it and is intrigued boy it, but it may not be for such a wide audience, it’s slightly more niche. This is that Leo and Aquarius dynamic, both stand out but for different reasons. Leo is he trendsetter and Aquarius is the trend/rule breaker. And if you think about it, they are sort of inspired by each other, from the different ends of the spectrum.

The funny thing is Aquarius ,in a way, want to control how they are seen more them Leo. Aquarius is ruled by Saturn, which rules over boundaries - they want to shape how people see them. Wheres Leo is ruled by the sun, is a more untamed expression of ‘here I am, take me as all I am’. I would argue that aquarians enjoy that uniqueness, and being hard to understand or grasp in some way. They enjoy being that person someone can’t quite put their finger on what it is about them that makes them so individual. They like that role of the weirdo. That is where that control comes in that I mentioned earlier.

Going back to their planetary rulers, Leo is ruled by the sun, the sun rules over expression. They want to walk into a room and take it up, They want to be the centre of attention al eyes on them as soon as they enter. Whereas Aquarius wants to win over the room, they don’t want/need to captivate an audience straight as they walk in  but they want people to do a double take and steal the spotlight trough their hard work and dedication (depending on whatever they want to be seen for) as this is ruled by Saturn.

Thank you for reading, as always I would love to hear your thoughts, and if you have any Leo or Aquarius placements, let me know how these play out in your life.

[three--rings]

So for obvious reasons I have been thinking about IWTV a lot recently, and thinking about the books a lot. I was OBSESSED with The Vampire Chronicles when I was in middle school, into early high school.

But something that I think may not really be clear to people reading them now, or to people who only know the show, is that there's a reason the books got away with being so incredibly queer and being Bestsellers in the 70s, 80s and 90s: there was no sex.

If you're unaware, in the books, Anne Rice's vampires cannot have sex. They are impotent, sex in the human way is just not a drive they have anymore. Instead physical connection is all about sharing blood. (For the record I think the show is right to have changed this. It's not worried about censorship on that front and having sex as part of the relationships makes them way easier to communicate to the audience.)

So while the books are very homoerotic, homoromantic, and at times quite suggestive, they never have on page sexual activity, they never label relationships with explicit romantic terms like lover or husband, characters never declare their sexuality. (In early books at least.)

What this meant is that The Vampire Chronicles existed in this Plausible Deniability space where anyone who had read them realized they were gay, but they weren't LABELED AS SUCH and therefore mainstream audiences didn't know that was part of it.

So me and my friends could be 11 or 12 carrying these books around our Catholic school and didn't get anything said about it. One of my English teachers had read the first one, and we talked about it, and her only complaint was that it wasn't philosophical enough for her. But she was cool.

So, I KNEW Louis and Lestat were in love. I knew Lestat had male and female lovers. And it affected me PROFOUNDLY because it was the first depiction of queerness as anything but a joke I ever encountered.

But it wasn't "gay fiction." If it was the target of right wing criticism it was about being satanic, not queer.

I was thinking of the 4th book in the series, which I read when it was first released, in 1992. In it, (spoilers) Lestat becomes human again. And he turns to his human openly gay friend David and says "omg I'm human. Let's HAVE SEX!"

Reading that and the fucking THIRD EYE that opened for me is BURNED into my memory. I remember how scandalous that was, because it was ON THE PAGE. Here was a book with men talking about having sex with each other. And I was reading it! And it was just casual and nonchalant. (Unfortunately they don't actually do it, to my young disappointment.) Despite all the queerness that i'd experienced (and recognized) already in the series, THAT was shocking.

You can't know what that was LIKE to a kid in 1992, before the internet was anything more than bulletin boards, before fanfiction online was really a thing. And these weren't niche novels, things only people in liberal literary circles read. They were massive, massive bestsellers.

IDK, you know. I have given Anne Rice a LOT of shit in my time, and she's deserved a lot of it. But she also performed some miracles of representation that affected a lot of people. IDK if I even have a point. Just. I was remembering what it felt like. To encounter a gay character in fiction for the first time, talk about gay sex for the first time.

I don't think it's an accident that me and my friend who shared this obsession both ended up being bi. We passed the books back and forth and pointed out the really juicy sections and other people were never quite as into these books as we were even when we made them read them.

[thirdtidemouse]

for anyone who hasnt watched the show this is just sketchbook in matching coats and twig in a dinosaur onesie

the most niche thing i've ever done. kaisa and jo, as jen and nic from daisy may cooper and selin hizli's BBC comedy thriller Am I Being Unreasonable? which is 6 episodes long and freaking awesome.

if anyone is interested in aibu/the basic premise for this au:

this is the original promo pic of jen (ms hizli) and nic (ms cooper)!

johanna lives with her daughter, hilda, the light of her life; her husband, anders, who she doesn't like; and twig, who is missing. she has no real friends, is grieving her parents, and in general is not happy with her life.

kaisa is new in town, and her younger sister (frida, whom johanna mistakes for a daughter) starts at the same school as hilda. kaisa and johanna, equally lonely, quickly become friends, and their sudden, intense connection kind of unravels both of their lives.

both of them are hiding a lot i wont spoil too much!! someone watch aibu so i can talk about this au with them. its like a psychological drama about mothers in their late 30s with lesbian subtext. jen has this really intense protective attachment style and its kind of like love at first sight when she meets nic. and their sons become friends and its just really sweet and sad and scary.

its a show about change and missing cats and being lonely and people's lives falling apart and its so so so so funny. if you like fleabag youd like am i being unreasonable. i'm not trying to sell you anything here but I WANT SOMEONE TO DISCUSS THIS WITH!!!!!

[bibibbon]

I made a huge mistake in going to the MHA subreddit. The braindead takes on 427 have me convinced I'm stuck in a parallel universe where we're reading a completely different story:

"It's great seeing Deku play therapist with the LOV, but all it seems to have done is make things worse!" A) Izuku shouldn't be having to play therapist to begin with, considering he's a 16 year old kid. B) most of the LOV don't see anything they did as wrong, so idk what the fuck Izuku can do about that. Also, WHY AREN'T PEOPLE HELPING IZUKU WITH HIS OWN GODDAMN FEELINGS?!

Apparently Bakugou killed Kurogiri, and there's absolutely ZERO reaction to it both in and out of universe. So of fucking course Izuku is a murderer, but not their precious Bakugou 🥱.

"I feel like Hori's really underrated as a writer!" Horikoshi doesn't know Show Don't Tell, how to actually develop characters, and how to craft actual stakes in the narrative from a hole in the ground. Also, MHA is one of the most popular mangas worldwide, so you're not even using underrated right.

"I feel like Horikoshi sees our discussions and then implements them in the story!" This I can kind of agree with, considering how much y'all hate Izuku and worship Bakugou. But on the other hand, I really doubt Horikoshi thinks the MHA subreddit is as important as you think it is.

"Bakugou's totally going to ask Izuku to start their own hero agency together at the end!" Jesus fucking Christ, just say you hate Izuku. How would that be a great ending for him? He not only has to see the source of his low self esteem and borderline suicidal feelings achieving the dream he'll now never have, but you want them to WORK together?!

@nutzgunray-lvt 👋

Well a lot of the time looking into Reddit is always a mistake unless you're asking a very niche question and you get an answer from 9 years ago or something.

I feel like a lot of people whether that be in universe or in fandom forget that izuku is a 16 year old child soldier. Izuku is more than a decade younger than a lot of the villains in the leauge. He is a child who has been exploited by the system and abused. We have seen in 425 izuku try and talk to someone but simply get brushed aside and while I don't blame shoto or ochako for doing that as they probably didn't mean it and are traumatised themselves it kinda of shows how much this has effected izuku. Also this doesn't help BECAUSE HORI GAVE US NO FLIPPING INTROPSECTION ON IZUKU'S BIT AGAIN!! Also Iam not sure if it's just me but Izuku's eye bags are heavily prominent in this chapter especially when he is talking to spinner.

The fandom especially the lov stans side of it love babayifying the actions of the leauge and hyper fixating on the humane soft side they may have while completely ignoring the horrible actions they commited. I talk about this better in one of @palesweetscherryblossom asks

I still can't believe that bk may of killed kurogiri. I don't even know when that happend and I checked the wiki but it says that kurogiris status is unconfirmed so I will be waiting until the last chapter to fully acknowledge if kurogiri is dead or not. However this brings up the point that the fandoms is being quite hypocritical if they're calling izuku a murder but not bakugo. They both killed people but for some reason it's izuku thats put into public light and bashing instead of all the other characters that have killed in the series including villains.

Yeah sometimes it feels like hori is looking at discussions of his series and implementing ideas but I think that goes more for his Japanese fans than us to be honest because after all they're his target demographic. I remember when I first joined Tumblr one of my earliest posts talked about how horikoshi's writing decisions were heavily influenced by his fans which may or may not be true.

At this point IAM convinced that izuku isn't getting a proper happy ending. Every time I think it can't get worse it does. Just by your comment of them starting an agency together haunts me just like the possibility that bk may become the number one hero

[oraclemoontarot]

Was not planning on sharing my opinion on this, but I've seen it circling around a bit, and honestly, I find it absolutely absurd, silly even. If people want to know who their future spouse is, how their crush feels, hell, even what a celebrity would think of them, it is fine, more than fine. Especially if it's not invasive, disgusting, or an uncomfortable topic, it isn't an issue.

Tarot is fun, it's interesting, it provides insights when needed as well. Let people ask and be curious about things, let them enjoy things. In the nicest of ways, it's genuinely not deep.

For a tarot reader who provides personal readings, imagine previous 'clients', for lack of a better word, who have bought such readings only to see this sort of response? Why shame people and assume things about them? Not everyone who asks love questions or questions surrounding celebrities are delusional or insecure or uncaring about their self and unaware of what needs to be improved within themselves. We only see what they show us, nothing more, nothing less. It is unfair and frankly, disrespectful to place such assumptions and look down on those who are interested in fun, probably not as insightful or deep, readings. If it makes them happy and isn't hurting anyone, especially themselves, let it be. It's tumblr, it's tarot, and there are more pressing things in this world and within our lives to place focus on.

Plus, everyone is in different stages within their lives, some have already worked on themselves or know what steps they need to take, so why would they be interested in a reading that would only tell them what they already know?

Other people want things to look forward to, or a way to escape from certain thoughts or an environment, or they're excited at the possibility of who is coming into their life. Whatever the reason, we're all curious by nature, albeit for different things. You may be interested in self-care readings, finances, career, family, health, love, celebrities - everyone has their own thing or multiple things. And, for tarot readers who have both paid and pac readings surrounding topics you 'shame' or look down on others for being interested in, I find it somewhat hypocritical and hurtful to those who have purchased such readings from those readers who say such things.

I want to end it with, if it's something you want to see more of, or something you place importance on and value, then nothing is stopping you from posting such readings of your own. Some tarot readers have their own niche. Some focus on solely celebs, self-care, sex, relationships. And that is more than okay. If you feel like there needs to be more variety, you can be the reader who provides that. It would be more than welcomed, it would be a good thing, especially as, again, it's insightful, helpful, and a guidance some people are in need of.

Alright, end of rant 😭 just in case, this was a response to multiple comments and blogs I've seen, it does not specifically target the original post (as that was mainly aimed at tarot readers), as some people had stated they found people requesting certain readings as delusional, immature, and insecure. Which was just baffling to me and an assumption that does more harm than good.

[aroaceleovaldez]

idk if youve talked about it before, but have you thought about what deified nico would be the god of? i love deified nico its inevitable canon for him imo because his papa promised him hed do it and he would never lie to his beloved only son!!! ive just always been a little stumped on what he would have dominion over personally, i feel like you could go a lot of directions with it (especially given a lot of greek/roman gods have multiple things attributed to them and all) so id love to hear any of your takes on it if you have them!

I have a little bit! I have a couple of ideas for him, mostly along the lines of: god of outcasts, self-sacrifice, unseen efforts, reprieve from suffering, perseverance, and maybe nontraditional family structures. and of course dandelions as one of his sacred symbols.

my big thing with deified Nico is that I want him to occupy a niche that both fits him and doesn't overlap too much with any deities but that's obviously difficult to find, so that list is the best i've managed so far. My thought process with it is that it's the kind of theme of things in the shadows/seeing & acknowledging the unseen or unappreciated, since Nico has so many themes relating to shadows and seeing/recognizing/interacting with the normally imperceptible or ignored. Just lots of little fun stuff of him recognizing and uplifting people/noble acts normally overlooked. And of course dandelions as his symbol both for the time Persephone turned him into one but also cause they make for a fun symbol of perseverance.

I do also like to play around a lot though with Nico having connections to Zagreus (since in Zagreus' mythos a major aspect for him is that he died and may have reincarnated into Dionysus), ergo me giving Nico's deified form horns a lot of the time.

[suzukiblu]

i am literally for real obsessed with your timberkon pink kryptonite fic so i definitely would love to see another sneak peek, but i'm also loving all the superfam stuff you're putting out!!! something that i wish you would write because i love your works (and have since the darcy lewis stucky days) and i think you would do amazing things with the pairing is jaytim, but i know thats not everyones cup of tea

(i realize now that you were probably aiming for an ask rather than a reply so here it is in your inbox too hskdhsh)

Thank you! ❤️ And oh, asks and replies were both fine for this, no worries. I try to just specify in-post whenever I have a preference but it's not gonna bother me either way.

I DO like JayTim to read, but I've never really felt a particular bug to write it myself? At least not yet, anyway, that may one day change. Though I miiiiight still put Kon in the middle because I am who I am and all, haha.

I'm planning to update the pink K fic on AO3 tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure I've already posted enough of chapter two in excerpts on Tumblr to have posted basically all of it by now and I'm trying to avoid doing that with chapter three, sooooo instead please accept the beginning of this very niche Superfam omegaverse pack dynamics AU instead. I've been looking for an excuse to post this whole big long thing anyway, lol.

Read-more for length, 'cuz there's kind of a lot here, haha.

.

The representative from the wet nurse agency shows up fifteen minutes early with an unusual-seeming omega who can't be a day over nineteen, being generous. Bruce makes a note to look into the agency's hiring practices a little more closely. The current situation is something of an emergency, unfortunately, and he's only had time to run the intermediate-level background checks so far.

Maybe this isn't the prospective wet nurse, he halfheartedly hopes, and they're just another representative; one who's in training or just here as backup. The kid smells like milk, though, and also why the hell would the agency send out an omega representative? Omegas are typically secretaries and clerks and almost all do in-office jobs, where they're "protected" from the outside world.

The practice is stupid and demeaning and borderline abhorrent, but it's a step up from the days when an omega couldn't get any job that wasn't as a nanny or a sex worker or some fucked-up combination of the two. Clark being an actual reporter is something that was practically unheard of two lousy generations back, and even now Clark is still an unusual exception in his field. Typically, an omega writing for a newspaper would be doing gossip or advice or something domestic, not investigative journalism.

So no, there's no way that this particular omega is anything but a wet nurse candidate, unusual-seeming and concerningly young or not. And Bruce had insisted on the candidate coming to meet them in person, even when the agency had very unsubtly implied that it would be better to just have the milk delivered.

Bruce is absolutely looking into this agency's hiring practices. An omega this age should barely be presented. One who's already allegedly producing enough milk to be a viable wet nurse for what they're requesting . . .

It's concerning, yes.

"Master Bruce, the representative from the Waterton Agency and her associate," Alfred introduces politely, gesturing between Bruce and their guests. He doesn't look or smell disapproving, even in the mildest notes, but Bruce knows he is.

Of course he is, with an omega who might be being either abused or taken advantage of or outright trafficked in the manor.

Bruce should've run a better background check.

"Hello, Alpha Wayne. My name is Ellen Travers," the agency representative greets tightly as Bruce steps into the parlor. She's a harried-looking blonde beta with graying hair who looks very unhappy to be here and is doing a very bad job of hiding the nervous dissatisfaction in her scent.

She doesn't introduce the omega.

Bruce puts on his stupid "Brucie" grin and strides right up to Travers, sticking a hand out to shake. She puts on a weak attempt at a polite smile in return and takes it.

"Hello there, Beta Travers, thanks so much for coming out here on such short notice!" Bruce greets her with a lie of cheerfulness, but Travers continues to smell nervous and upset and her smile is no less forced. And the omega . . .

The kid smells downright sullen, which is not a typical scent to catch off an unfamiliar presented omega and doesn't do anything to make him seem any older.

And yes, he's definitely unusual. He's much taller than Travers–about Bruce's own height, in fact–and has a very broad build and a surprising amount of muscle on him on top of that. Bruce knows full-grown alphas who'd kill to be built like this kid. He's also much more "handsome" than "beautiful", and frankly couldn't look less like the kind of sweet and pretty little things the agency had advertised on their website if he tried, much less the soft and maternal type Bruce had been expecting to actually have show up, given the specific requests he'd made.

Well, it does make sense. Bruce obviously wasn't going to provide the agency with either a Kryptonian genetic profile or a Kryptonian pup's exact dietary needs in search of a suitable wet nurse, but the nutrient requests that they'd made would likely necessitate an omega of a similar build to Clark's to supply–hell, the kid even resembles him a bit, funnily enough. They've already had four agencies tell them that they simply didn't have an appropriate candidate on staff, and the milk samples they'd been able to provide hadn't proven very helpful.

Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, but Martha had at least had the advantage of having a pack bond with him. A packmate's milk always does miles better by a pup than a stranger's or any kind of formula ever could.

Though she'd had some very odd cravings while nursing him, she'd told them. And Clark had still grown up underfed, even with formula and yellow sunlight to supplement–the Fortress had observed marked evidence of childhood malnutrition in him, he'd said.

Occasionally Bruce wonders what a properly-nursed Kryptonian raised under a yellow sun from infancy would've actually turned out like.

The thought is . . . well. A thought.

A thought that still makes him leery of how Jon Kent might grow up, sometimes.

Those concerns aside, though, the really unusual thing about this omega isn't either his physique or his face. Bruce is perfectly used to omegas with "nontraditional" looks after knowing Clark and Diana this long, to say nothing of various other Justice League members or other superheroes and villains he's known, or of both raising and reuniting with Jason. But this omega isn't as demurely dressed as mild-mannered Clark Kent would be; he's wearing opaque sunglasses and an alpha-cut studded leather jacket and alpha-style jeans and an inconveniently inaccessible plain black T-shirt with no sign of a nursing bra underneath it, nothing soft or appealing in either his clothes or his posture. If anything, he looks aggressive; tense and guarded and ready to start some shit. Even Jason usually puts up a temporary illusion of traditional omega mannerisms when he's meeting strangers as a civilian, if only so he'll be underestimated. This kid isn't even pretending to make the attempt.

And the kid smells completely and undeniably stray, too. Bruce can't catch a single note of packscent coming off him. Not even the scent of whatever pup got him milked up enough to qualify for this job. Unbred omegas sometimes lactate in heat or when under stress or if someone in their pack either has or adopts a pup, but a stray who doesn't smell particularly distressed or anything like he's on his cycle shouldn't be producing any milk at all.

At least not without using the kind of stimulants that Bruce explicitly forbade when filling out the agency application, anyway. Those medications are necessary for some omegas, obviously, but in this situation . . .

Kryptonian pups don't respond well to getting anything like that in their milk, they've already very thoroughly learned.

The omega also has spiked stainless steel piercings in his ears, snake bites under his mouth, and two curved barbells in his left eyebrow. All his other jewelry is heavy alpha-styled rings and bracelets, and his nails are painted a chipped black. And he is, notably, not wearing any kind of collar or necklace, and his neck is completely unmarked.

Bruce is in no way oblivious to the obvious message that an uncollared and unbitten omega's neck presents when left so obviously bared. Especially on a stray one who's dressed like an alpha and standing like he's expecting a fight.

He cannot imagine why this kid is working as a wet nurse.

None of the theories that come to mind bode particularly well, though.

"This omega is our most fitting candidate for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, her smile turning increasingly forced. Bruce thinks he can safely translate that expression as that of a beta who did not in any way agree with that assessment but was stuck following orders. "She fulfills all of your nutritional requests, including the necessary iron content and the prioritized fats and proteins, and, of course, is not taking any manner of lactation-inducing stimulants or supplements."

"He," the omega corrects, sounding dubious. Travers's mouth tightens. Bruce knows a lot of old-school traditionalists who won't call a male omega "he" or a female alpha "she", no matter what said omega or alpha's preferences happen to be, and makes another note about looking into this agency more thoroughly.

Much more thoroughly.

"She isn't available for direct nursing, unfortunately, but her milk is a perfect match to your requests and she produces both excellently and reliably; her supply will be more than enough for your needs," Travers continues as if the omega hadn't spoken, and the omega's lip curls in obvious annoyance as he rolls his eyes with no attempt to hide his exasperation even in the presence of an unfamiliar alpha.

Bruce thinks of Jason with a brief pang, and pushes the thought aside. It's not the time.

Maybe he could've asked Jason for help with this, if he'd been a better father. A better alpha. A better . . .

But he wasn't, so now there's an annoyed stranger standing in his parlor instead of a content packmate curled up in their nest.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head and blinking down at Travers with a deliberately surprised expression. "The consultant made it sound like you'd need multiple donors, for the amount we're asking."

If one goddamn barely-presented kid is actually producing enough milk to even half-feed a Kryptonian pup . . .

"This omega produces sufficient quantities for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers replies with another forced smile. She must know how ridiculous a statement that is, when she's talking about a stray kid and not a fully mature omega with at least a couple of litters under their belt who's well-established in a stable pack, but she says it with conviction all the same.

"Oh, good!" Bruce says brightly, because he's supposed to be a stupid knotheaded playboy who wouldn't know a damn thing about nursing either way. "That'll be convenient, then."

Frankly, he only wishes one omega could produce what they need right now, but requesting that much milk from one agency for just one pup would be immediately flagged as suspicious, and definitely turned down outright. They're still looking for other candidates under false names, but at the rate they're going, they're going to need to keep supplementing with formula, which already hasn't been going well.

If Clark could get milked up himself, this wouldn't be a problem, of course. A Kryptonian omega could easily produce more than enough for one Kryptonian pup, especially under a yellow sun. Clark nursed Jon without a problem for years and was actually overproducing when he was, Bruce knows very well.

Unfortunately, that's not an option anymore. Not since . . .

Clark would never forgive himself if something like that happened again.

Never.

And Kara and Karen are both alphas, and Jon's a beta and only ten anyway, and the only other living Kryptonians they know of are either remorseless criminals imprisoned in the Phantom Zone or the sickly little pup who's slowly wasting away upstairs.

Formula and concentrated yellow sunlight haven't been enough. Clark can't get milked up anymore. They haven't been able to synthesize any appropriate supplements either in the Fortress or in working with the Justice League or STAR Labs or even in collaborating between them.

And the pup is just getting weaker, and quieter, and sicker.

A human wet nurse probably won't even help that much, at this point, but . . .

Well, it's the best chance they have to keep the pup alive until they can synthesize something. Maybe the only chance, now.

"We strive to provide to our clients' convenience, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, and the omega rolls his eyes again. Bruce is less and less convinced of him being an adult in any way but the presentation of his pheromones.

It's rude to address an unfamiliar unpacked omega directly, especially as an alpha. Technically Travers is chaperoning them in a professional situation, though, and Bruce has increasing suspicions about this omega's personal standards so far as "manners" go anyway.

And everyone knows Brucie Wayne is stupid and shameless, of course.

So he flashes the kid a grin, and he says, "Well, it's great to meet you, we appreciate you making the trip! What's your name, Mr. . . .?"

The kid blinks at him, clearly surprised both to be spoken to and to be called "Mr." instead of "Miss" or "Ms." or even "Omega". Travers looks absolutely scandalized.

Bruce really doesn't approve of the kind of traditionalists who won't introduce an omega or use their stated pronouns, though, so fuck if he cares.

"Her name is Carly, Alpha Wayne!" Travers interjects quickly, her tone a little bit too bright to be genuine. "Short for Caroline."

"Just Carl," the kid corrects, shaking his head. Travers's mouth tightens again. It's not a very typical omega name, so no surprise.

It occurs to Bruce to wonder if Carl might be a trans alpha, which he probably should've thought to wonder as soon as he saw how he was dressed and got an impression of his personality. Obviously the kid's at least not currently on HRT if he's working as a wet nurse, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being transgender all the same.

Actually, affording gender-affirming care is definitely a reason that a kid like this one would be working this job, especially if said kid's family weren't supporting them. Wet nurses make more money than most other fields that omegas without a diploma can expect to get into, at least short of sex work, and Carl is very obviously too young to have graduated college yet.

Actually, Bruce still isn't even sure if he's old enough to have graduated high school yet.

He's going to burn down this whole damn agency if they're knowingly employing a minor as a wet nurse.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," he says easily. Carl's eyes narrow consideringly, and then he folds his arms and smirks, crooked and casual.

"Sure," he says. "Nice to meet you too, Wayne."

Travers looks agonized. The last non-alpha stranger who called Bruce "Wayne" instead of "Alpha Wayne" was a beta terrorist who was in the middle of kidnapping him, and he's not sure any omega who wasn't an active supervillain ever has, so he's not surprised by her reaction.

Carl is still watching him with the same cocky smirk, though, an obvious challenge in the expression and his posture both. Bruce puts another point towards the possibility of him being a trans alpha, though he's not stupid enough to actually ask if he is, especially not in front of someone the kid works under. Presentation aside, Carl might not be out, and Travers is currently at least professionally following traditional manners, so Bruce doesn't have much hope for this agency being all that progressive and doesn't want to accidentally get the kid fired.

Though if Carl is a minor, Bruce is going to have to see if he can't slip him a business card and find him another job. Especially if he's going to be burning down the agency he's working for.

"Why aren't you available for direct nursing, if you don't mind me asking?" he asks in a curious tone, because he still can't smell a pup on the kid and most wet nurses who aren't nursing their own pups do direct nursing, and he wants intel about the agency's typical practices. Carl shrugs.

"Stubborn tits," he replies, pushing his chest out as he gestures at himself with no apparent sense of shame or self-consciousness, and Travers looks increasingly agonized. Bruce is just increasingly missing Jason, himself. "Milk flows too slow and the pups always get all fussy and stress out about it. Which, whatever, pups are weird anyway, they're not really my thing."

"'Weird'?" Bruce repeats, carefully noting the lack of possessives in reference to any potentially dysphoria-triggering anatomy. Still not a confirmation, but another point. Carl shrugs again.

"I'm afraid Carly doesn't bond appropriately with pups, Alpha Wayne," Travers interjects quickly, and Carl scowls at her. "She has an unfortunate detachment disorder."

"I 'attach' fine," Carl grumbles sourly, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just don't like kids."

Travers grimaces. Bruce keeps pretending to be an oblivious idiot. He has met omegas who don't like children. They exist.

They're just all deeply, deeply traumatized people. Or clinically insane.

Or both, frequently.

So . . . "detachment disorder" seems likely, yes.

Bruce doesn't consider either sex or gender to be the end-all be-all of a person, of course, but there are certain biological imperatives that no one can deny as existing, and a lactating omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–really, just about any omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–is not ever going to say they "just" don't like kids. Usually the problem with omega wet nurses is them liking kids too much, in fact, and getting distressed or depressed when the parents wean the pups and they won't be seeing them again. The decent agencies have psychological support for that in place and typically offer paid leave between long-term clients. The Waterton Agency does up to a month, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it.

So yes, Carl is almost definitely traumatized.

Though really, a wet nurse who won't be around much isn't the worst thing, considering. Neither Clark nor Jon started developing any especially noticeable powers until they were older, but they can't assume anything based off a sample size of two, especially when said sample size is made up of biological relatives. And even if they didn't have to worry about that, well, the manor is frequently full of vigilantes and the cave is right underneath it. There's a lot that a regular guest could notice, especially over however long they might need to be nursing. Especially because nursing is a quiet, out-of-the-way activity that takes a while, and it would be very easy for someone to forget to keep their voice down or to not do a damn quadruple-backflip off a chandelier at the wrong moment.

And there's a reason Clark and Lois brought this problem to the shadows of Gotham, as opposed to staying in bright and sunny Metropolis with it. They've got something to hide right now, and a lot to figure out.

Plus if even a molecule of kryptonite gets involved in this situation, even secondhand . . .

Power Girl and Supergirl and Steel are the ones taking shifts watching Metropolis right now, and everyone is just going to leave it at that. Superman isn't coming out for anything less than the apocalypse.

"Well, the Lane-Kents will probably want you to meet the kiddo either way, if you don’t mind," Bruce tells Carl, offering an easy shrug. "Peace of mind, you know how it is."

"Not really," Carl says. Bruce debates slipping the kid a psychiatrist's business card, but he'd probably take it as an insult.

"Er, yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says awkwardly. "Actually, we were expecting Alpha Lane to be with you . . . ?"

"Lois is currently stuck in Metropolis traffic thanks to Metallo bashing up half of downtown this afternoon and Clark is upstairs getting the kiddo around. Little guy just woke up from his nap," Bruce replies with a pleasant smile, making another note of how Travers left off the omega member of the couple's last name, and also apparently doesn't expect to be meeting said omega at all. He is increasingly regretting choosing this agency, though he may yet manage to do some good in the world by subtly dismantling it. Or maybe just by buying it outright and doing a little restructuring.

Or a lot of restructuring.

"Wait, it's not your kid?" Carl asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression. Travers looks pained. The Waterton Agency isn't Gotham-based, so Bruce isn't sure why she apparently expects Carl to be up on the Wayne pack's current members, especially considering how she keeps talking over and outright ignoring him. Bruce has a hard time picturing her bothering to provide the information herself, at this point.

"Oh, no, just doing a favor for some visiting friends," he replies smoothly, still wearing the same pleasant smile. Which is a lie, of course, because actually the Lane-Kents are part of his secondary pack and "visiting friends" therefore in no way covers what they are to him. The Wayne pack is both his primary and his family pack, obviously, and the Justice League is a loosely-connected tertiary pack, but his secondary pack lacks both an official name and public recognition, because explaining to the public why Brucie Wayne's secondary pack is two award-winning reporters from Metropolis, a random museum curator in Gateway City, a decorated Navy SEAL, and occasionally a cat burglar with commitment issues is just not going to work out for anyone's secret identities.

And that even without counting how everyone knows about Lois Lane and Steve Trevor's respective very public connections to Superman and Wonder Woman, much less ever explaining anything about Selina. Bruce, meanwhile, still isn't sure how he ended up in a pack with any of these people. Clark and Diana definitely have a lot to answer for either way, though.

Mostly he blames Clark. Diana has more decorum. Clark is just . . . Clark, so now Bruce gets a scarf and cookies from Martha Kent every Christmas, never mind that he's technically Jewish, because God forbid he ever tells her that and she starts sending him Hanukkah presents instead. He cannot handle eight nights' worth of Martha Kent's colorfully-wrapped scarves and lovingly-packaged cookies. That's just not a thing he can do.

He doesn't even celebrate holidays, except when Dick cons him into it. Which admittedly he's been doing more often again the past few years, but–

This is off-topic, Bruce reminds himself, but then gets distracted as Carl cocks his head a little and frowns over something. Bruce instinctively wants to brace himself for trouble at the sight, because that frown actually very strongly reminds him of Clark's "what the hell weird and concerning thing did I just notice with my super-senses" frown, but A) Carl doesn't have super-senses and B) Bruce just heard the stairs creak, which means the actual Clark is finally on his way down to meet them. No one else in the manor would ever make the steps creak any way but deliberately except for Lois or Jon, and Jon is out on a walk with Damian and Titus while Lois is, again, currently stuck in Metropolis traffic. So: Clark, definitely.

Also Clark tends to make the stairs creak a lot louder than either Lois or Jon do, given the very notable size difference there.

"Has Alpha Lane authorized you to make decisions for his pup's care, Alpha Wayne?" Travers asks with another forced smile. Bruce is resolving to check specifically her background too, at this point.

"No, no, that won't be necessary, good ol' Clark's right here," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's his pup too, and he knows much more about ones this age than I do anyway."

"Yes, well, omegas tend to get a little . . . irrational about the idea of sharing their pups with a wet nurse," Travers says "politely", like she thinks she's stating a fact. Bruce would say something cheerful-sounding and subtly insulting back, typically, but Carl's frown is deepening and he looks a little bit . . . odd, maybe, or . . .

There's a strange little pup-call from the stairs, very quiet and echoing in unusual registers but still recognizably one all the same, and just as recognizably resigned-sounding. It's a pup-call that clearly expects to go unanswered, at this point, which is something that Bruce would like to never hear again in his life, given the option.

Though it's better than a pup who's given up on calling at all, he supposes.

He tries not to grimace at that thought, though he's sure Clark's grimacing enough for the both of them right now after hearing a call like that. The pup is starving, and they just can't feed him properly. At this point sending him back where he came from might be kinder.

Honestly, if Bruce didn't know exactly who his parents were, he might've already insisted on that.

It's just–

The pup calls again, even quieter. Travers looks perplexed.

"Er," she says. "I apologize, Alpha Wayne, but is the pup ill? We can't be around them if they are, it's against agency policy."

"Oh, the kiddo just sounds like that," Bruce replies dismissively, and then lies, "Vocal chord deformity, apparently. We're not sure what caused it, pediatrician thinks it's something genetic."

Well, it is genetic. Jon calls in exactly the same registers, and according to Martha and Jonathan so did Clark.

So it's genetic, yes. Just not a deformity.

Carl's expression looks–odd, still. Bruce isn't sure what to think of it, but it makes him a bit wary. A detachment disorder doesn't imply an actual negative reaction to the presence of a pup, obviously, but . . .

Clark steps into the parlor with Lor-Zod sitting on his hip, the pup no older than two or so and looking small and listless in his arms, his dark skin all washed out and his previously bright eyes gone dull and tired. When he first crash-landed in Metropolis in the rocket he'd been wrapped up inside, Clark said he'd popped out of it energetic and excited and clamoring for attention in toddler-level Kryptonian, but he's been slowly fading ever since, wasting away without the nutrients that they just can't provide him. He's probably only made it this long thanks to the sun.

Again, Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, though he was already at least three by the time they got him, which probably helped. A pup Lor's age is capable of eating solid food, obviously, but milk or formula is still a major part of a pup's diet until they're four or five, if not older, and the longer the better. Hell, most kids still at least semi-regularly nurse for as long as their dam can manage to stay milked up, or even until they present themselves. No one can wean a damn toddler and expect them to thrive.

Or even survive, in Lor's case.

Lor opens his mouth in another weak, resigned little pup-call, and Clark's own mouth tightens as he restrains himself from answering it and giving the pup false hope for milk he just doesn't have, and Bruce steels himself to–

Carl croons.

Travers startles. Bruce is . . . surprised, a bit. A detachment disorder doesn't really imply the kind of omega who'd croon at a pup they've never seen before in their life, after all.

It's an unusual and unpracticed croon, as if it's a sound Carl doesn't make very often, which Bruce supposes would make sense. Lor responds to it immediately, though, shifting weakly in Clark's arms and pup-calling again.

Carl, with absolutely no manners or decorum whatsoever, sweeps right past Travers and Bruce and Alfred and just plucks Lor straight out of Clark's arms. Which–forget the kid calling him "Wayne"; that's a damn etiquette breach. Hell, Clark probably only didn't take Carl's head off for snatching up his pup without permission because he's so clearly dumbfounded that he actually did it.

Bruce is slightly less dumbfounded due to having spent five seconds in the kid's presence, but still, what is he–

"Carly!" Travers chokes in horror. Carl very obviously doesn't even hear her and just starts purring at Lor and cuddling him close in a way that really doesn't even slightly imply "detachment disorder".

And then Bruce figures out what was "odd" about Carl's expression, before.

"Huh," he says, a little bemused. "Did he just go into feral drop?"

"Alpha Wayne, I assure you, this is not the Waterton Agency's standard of behavior!" Travers sputters, sounding even more horrified, and Clark just blinks and tilts his head.

"I think he did, yeah," he says, looking perplexed. Carl continues ignoring everyone in the room except for Lor and just purrs louder at him as they both nuzzle into each other. Lor makes more very distinctly Kryptonian pup-calls at him, and Carl croons back with no apparent concern over their strangeness, sounding absolutely goddamn enamored.

That is definitely not a detachment disorder, Bruce thinks. There is no possible way that an omega with a detachment disorder just went into full feral drop over a pup at first sight.

Or possibly first sound, he's realizing.

Bruce is perfectly aware that omegas can feral-bond with distressed pups whether they mean to or not, but he's never seen it happen this fast outside of a warzone or a natural disaster. He's heard hearsay and read studies about particularly compatible sets that have done it under less stressful circumstances, but distressed and starving pup or not, he wouldn't have even expected a human omega to be capable of bonding with a Kryptonian pup like that.

Or at all, frankly. Deliberately created and carefully cultivated pack bonds are one thing, but . . .

Lor chirps, the sound still a little quiet and fragile, a little weak, but also undeniably hopeful, and Carl gives him a low, rumbly purr in reply and yanks up his inconveniently-cut T-shirt to expose his chest with no trace of hesitation or modesty. He's already leaking sweetly-scented milk, already adjusting his grip on Lor to let the pup get at his chest as easily and comfortably as possible, and Lor latches without a moment's hesitation and immediately starts to nurse.

And then Lor purrs. Carl just watches him with undeniable adoration, still paying no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room.

Alright, then, Bruce thinks carefully.

Well, that just happened.

"Thought you didn't like kids, Carl?" he inquires casually, putting on an easy grin, and Carl finally seems to come up enough to remember that the rest of them exist, though he still doesn't actually take his eyes off Lor.

"I would literally become a supervillain if this kid asked me to," he replies dreamily, keeping Lor cradled in one arm and tracing a finger down the pup's cheek with a soft, besotted expression that's unmistakable for what it is even with the sunglasses on. He looks like he might just burn down the world if someone tried to take Lor away from him right now, and his pheromones are so all-encompassing and so cloyingly sweet that Bruce genuinely might need to see a dentist after this.

"Well usually I'd say we keep Batman in the loop on that kind of thing around here, but if the kiddo asks, it only seems fair," he jokes with a laugh.

"I would drop-kick Batman off a roof for you," Carl informs Lor lovingly as he strokes his cheek again and then skims a fingertip along the little barely-visible scar splitting his eyebrow. Lor keeps purring sweetly and Alfred coughs to conceal a low chuckle. Clark looks a little pained to be watching one of his pups nurse from another omega so easily and eagerly, but his mouth quirks in amusement at the comment anyway. Bruce doesn't dignify any of them with a response, because he is an alpha with dignity and also is in no way threatened by a passing comment from a barely-presented kid who clearly isn't even combat-trained.

. . . although he also isn't going to be stupid enough to try coaxing Lor away from the omega he just feral-bonded with just yet either.

Then Tim walks by the doorway, takes one look at Carl with Lor, and trips over literally nothing and into a full faceplant on the foyer floor. Bruce pauses, then raises an eyebrow.

"Alright down there, Timmy?" he asks. Tim scrambles back to his feet, looking more genuinely mortified than he's ever seen him.

"Fine!" he blurts. "Fine. Everything's fine. All the things are fine. Uh. What? Who?"

"This is Carl," Bruce says, gesturing to the kid. "Wet nurse from the Waterton Agency. And his escort, Beta Travers. Carl, Beta Travers, this is my son, Tim Drake-Wayne. And also Clark Lane-Kent and his pup, Chris Lane-Kent, who I'm assuming you've figured out are your prospective clients."

"Yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says with a grimace. "We gathered."

"Ngh," Tim says, looking at literally everything but Carl and Lor. His face is bright red, which is an unusual amount of embarrassment for him to be showing just over tripping. Typically he masks that kind of thing a lot more effectively. Bruce would almost think he was actually embarrassed by watching Carl feed Lor, but Tim's literally never been affected by anything but passing curiosity when seeing a pup nurse before, so that seems unlikely. And he's a male beta, if still an unpresented one, so it's not like he's got any reason to care all that much about it anyway.

So his reaction does seem a little odd, yes.

Hm.

"Chris," Carl coos adoringly down at Lor. Bruce is in no way stupid enough to think that he absorbed any of the rest of that introduction or has even noticed Tim's presence at all. He wouldn't even put money on him having noticed Clark's presence, in fact, except as a pup-delivery system. The kid is very clearly in love with the pup in his arms and doesn't give a damn about any of the rest of them at all.

Detachment disorder. Sure.