Originally I Was Going To Write This Story Into A Fic. However, A Comic Format Worked Much Better So

Today is children's day here. So I went to a nightclub with some friends and the place was giving free drinks to anyone who was shorter than 5'0"/1.55 m to celebrate the date. From all the group, I was the only one that was asked for her ID (because baby face) but no free drinks (because I'm taller). I think I deserved at least one ಠ_ಠ

The masculine urge to be the living-dead thing Lawrence keeps (a series of sketches) 🥺 [ MINORS DNI ]

Oh and to whisper cryptic sweet nothings into the ear of my necromancer 😭💘

[ Lawrance belongs to @gatobob ]

I honestly hate what the What’s Next Brigade did to fashion dolls aimed at tween girls. “Passion For Fashion” was supposed to mean “buy clothes that make you happy” but the What’s Next Brigade (which was combined of media, Karen-style parents, and people wanting to uphold the patriarchy) twisted it to parents that it was pushing the narrative of “buying clothes is the only thing that will make you happy”.

I loved the fact that Bratz and Monster High were originally designed wearing short skirts and crop tops and high heels because it was the first time I’d seen female characters who dressed like that presented as doing it because it made them happy, not “just to get attention from boys” or “rebelling because of bad parenting”.

“But they make girls think it’s ok to dress like that!” IT IS OK TO DRESS LIKE THAT IF DRESSING LIKE THAT MAKES YOU FUCKING HAPPY!!

“But it’s encouraging girls to be slutty!” YOU KEEP USING THAT WORD AND I DON’T THINK YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS, KAREN!!

“But it’s telling girls that spending a lot of money on clothes is the only way to be happy!” I DON’T KNOW IF YOU NOTICED, BUT SHOPPING WASN’T THE ONLY THING THOSE CHARACTERS DID TO BE HAPPY. THE BRATZ PUBLISHED THEIR OWN MAGAZINE AND PLAYED IN A BAND AND RAISED MONEY FOR CHARITY. THE MONSTER HIGH GHOULS PLAYED SPORTS AND WROTE POETRY AND TOOK ART AND MUSIC CLASSES AND PROGRAMMED COMPUTERS IN BETWEEN FACING OFF WITH PREJUDICE. BARBIE WAS AN AMAZING ACTRESS WHO IN HER FREE TIME BABYSAT AND SNOWBOARDED AND BUILT ROBOTS AND BAKED CAKES AND WENT TO MEDICAL SCHOOL AND RAN A DOG-WALKING SERVICE AND GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE.

The phrase was “Passion for Fashion”, not “Passion for Fast Fashion”. Y’all looked at doll lines that encouraged girls to be happy and love themselves and dress how they wanted to, said “that won’t do!”, and presented a bunch of patriarchal arguments as feminism. In the name of protecting-the-children. Only all you’re protecting children from is thinking for themselves and forming opinions that you didn’t spoon-feed to them.

I don't know how, but we're gonna get married and we're gonna have 20 children a la verg@. Me? Look, your personal incubator. You know why? Because you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life

Yes, i wrote the audio and then translate it from spanish. Atte: onion simp

Merciful, based, smart, amazing Robo... which pet names would onion call his lover... and would they be in spanish... *puts 100 cans of redbull on your desk as the offering*

mi vida (in public)

princesa/príncipe (in private)

hope this is relatable..

Ok sooo

I just finished all the bad end ( yay what a way to spend my night ) and concluded that bad end mc is usually really mean sometimes which made my brain go brrrrr. So may I propose to you... The second MC AU.

What this AU is about: what if, you, as a player/oc were a second MC. One arriving some days after the arrival of lovely Lola on the server? Events would still go the same way except the LI are falling for lovely Lola and you.... Feel that sometimes it's wrong? Maybe it's just jealousy... Maybe you're just salty your crush shows visible interest in someone else... But why can't you toss the feelings that that girl is not nice? She seems aware of the feeling your crush has toward them and how her words impact them... Still, they say sometimes really mean stuff...

You call her out when she holds quests past against him. You respond to Nighthowl when she seems to ignore him when it comes to what he's proud of. You try to know more about toasty, you laugh. You try to talk with XYX, not seeking for jokes.

And then when they seriously think of leaving the server... Your username pop up and something change. Maybe... They should try talking to you first. It feels nice talking to you. So nice that they forgot about their previous feelings, maybe they fell for the wrong person, at least that what they think when they see you online now.

Why did they ever fell for lovelylola ?

Celia making sure her MC looks cute, like doing their make up/hair/dressing/etc. That kind of cute stuff to make her MC look stunning (◕ᴗ◕✿)

AUGH thank you, I needed this

c.w: no pronouns used, but dresses/makeup/jewelry mentioned. Hair styling. Mildly suggestive toward the end.

She's so tactile with you.

Fingers trailing over the curve of your shoulder as they slide the spaghetti strap of your dress back into place -- it had looked almost plain on the hanger, floor-length and solid burgundy, but she handed it to you, and you trusted her. When you stepped out of the dressing room and saw yourself in the mirror, you gasped, and her reflection grinned from behind you.

The gown made your shape into a work of art, clinging in a way that was both classy and flattering. You noticed, for the first time, the thin silver swirls descending elegantly from the neckline, giving the dress a bit of subtle flair. And the fabric - now that you're paying attention to it, you realize how soft it is. Velvet, maybe.

"It's gorgeous," you say, still stunned, after she twirls you before the mirror.

"It's gorgeous on you," she amends, wrapping her arms around your middle, resting her chin on your shoulder.

---

"Does it fit properly?" She asks.

Leaving a soft kiss on the back of your neck after fastening the clasp of your necklace -- something silver and intricate to go with the bodice of the dress. Her painted nails trail along the line of it, playing over your collarbones, before they lift upwards to brush your earlobes, which currently house simple but sparkling diamond studs. Her palms move to your arms, where they glide down to your wrists and fuss over the filigree bracelets on each one.

Then, finally, the ring, set with an opal and garnet accent stones - she'd slid it slowly onto your left ring finger, and your whole body tingled in response. Then she'd lifted it to her lips for a chaste yet heartstopping kiss, and you'd nearly melted into a puddle at her feet. Now, she merely brushes her thumb over the opal.

"Is that your sneaky way of asking for my ring size?" You respond with a teasing grin. She meets your eyes and smiles back.

"Maybe."

---

Hands smoothing over your hair, fingers threading through as she works with the strands -- using the curling iron, or the straightener, or simply braiding it or winding it up into a pretty bun. Tucking a strand behind your ear, pulling it back out to frame your face, pinning things and twirling things and spritzing things. She's probably gone through half a dozen styles so far and can't seem to land on one.

"Is this just my life now?" You tease as she unpins all her hard work for the seventh time.

"I can't decide what style suits you best - you look lovely in all of them. Let me try one more thing," she says, determination filling her eyes once again as she lifts them from yours, back to your hair. You laugh, but otherwise remain still for her.

---

"Well, we're definitely going to be late, but I think you're finally done," she states, looking you over critically. You know you've passed inspection when her gaze turns appreciative instead.

Palm cupping your jaw as she gently tilts your face upward, applying makeup with all the intense focus of a chess master -- brushing on foundation and blush, expertly blending eyeshadow, managing your eyeliner and mascara like a pro despite your reflexive, excessive blinking.

Finally, tugging at your chin just enough to part your lips so that she can paint them in the color she picked out for you. She hands you a napkin to blot with.

"Are you, though?" you ask, biting your newly-tinted lip seductively.

"Of course not," she says, gaze smoldering more the longer she looks at you, "but I suppose I'll just have to touch you some more when we get back home."

"Ooh, promise?"

She leans closer, until her lips are nearly touching yours.

"Promise."

have these been done yet....... art by gatobob, darqx

*prayer hands* fic prompt: cooking a new recipe with milo, chill and domestic vibes! ✨️

Rain battered the apartment windows as you fetched an oversized sweatshirt and returned to the kitchen. Milo was leaning against the fridge, printed sfogliatelle recipe in hand. He wore a simple black short-sleeved shirt. The man never seemed to get cold.

"We could just go to a restaurant," he said, and you sighed.

You'd already bought the honey, flour, milk, all of the ingredients, and organized them along with the cookware you’d need on the kitchen counter. You’d even bought a pasta machine. "You can't usually get sfogliatelle at a restaurant."

"What if you gave them a tip?"

Ugh. "I specifically picked out this recipe because it's hard to find unless you go to an Italian bakery. I thought it would be something special."

Milo glanced at you over the piece of paper, his violet eyes a shade darker in the moody, overcast light. You began pulling the sweatshirt over your head, but struggled with the mass of fabric. You felt Milo tug at the sides to help you put it on. “You might actually find something that fits if you wore one of your own sweatshirts for once.”

“But yours are so cozy.”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “Where should I start with the recipe?"

“Measure out the flour and salt, please.”

He grabbed a cup and spoon. You went to work measuring the water and honey, occasionally stealing glances at Milo’s neutral expression. It was cute to watch him focus on cooking. Earlier, you had almost convinced him to wear an apron with hearts printed on it, but he backed out, saying you were going to take pictures. Which you were, of course.

"Is there a special occasion I forgot about?" Milo said without looking over at you.

"Hm...? Why do you ask?”

"You said making the recipe would be special."

"Does it need to be a special occasion for us to do something nice together? It's special because I'm making it with you."

He went quiet at this and dumped the measured flour and salt together, while you gradually added the water and honey to the dry mixture.

The other times Milo cooked with you, it didn't feel overly romantic. Not that you needed it to, but maybe mixing butter and flour or dicing tomatoes didn't exactly put him in the mood. In any case, it was still nice to do something together.

With the ingredients mixed, you kneaded the soft dough that had formed.

“Anything else for the moment?” Milo said.

“Nope, the dough will go in the fridge for half an hour after this.”

Milo gave your head a quick pat and you watched him leave the room. He could’ve at least stuck around a few minutes longer. But at least later you’d get to try out the pasta machine together, and then you’d give him the job of making the filling.

Music kicked up in the other room. "La Canzone del Sol." He had put on one of his records. Must be feeling Italian.

You heard footsteps behind you and felt Milo's firm chest lightly press against your back. His chin rested on your shoulder as he slid his hands down your arms.

"Better?" He whispered the word into your ear, giving you chills.

"I..." you trailed off.

"If you want it to be special, I'll make it special. I can do the rest of the kneading, too."

His hands replaced yours and he went to work kneading the dough a bit too sensually for him to just be thinking about Italian desserts. He rocked you gently back and forth to the music, as you tucked your arms up into the sweatshirt, completely enveloped in his warmth.

"And I'll feed it to you when it’s done, if that’s what you want."

“Never said I wanted that,” you mumbled.

“So you’re going to feed it to me?”

You sighed and nuzzled your head into his arm. You were glad he couldn't see your expression.