#Gorgeous human peacock

[blackbird-brewster]

Happy 55th Birthday, to the Gorgeous Human Peacock herself - - Paget V. Brewster

March 10, 1969

[rafent]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑. #toaball2024

「 A man of self-assured comportment carries a glass with carmine liquid, dark and burgundy and dangerous, each quality in equal proportion to himself. Wine? A reasonable theory, but truth yields that it is actually cranberry juice. Indeed; dissatisfied with the unsweet drops of yesteryear, the Fell Heir has brought his own sugary contraband into the ballroom. But before he can take a single sip, he stops, catching the trajectory of your gaze as his milky chest puffs. 'You can look but you can't touch,' his imperious body language seems to say loud and clear. You get the impression that he is luxuriating in your very attention. 」 "My eyes are up here, you know." ... WEEK 1. WEEK 2. WEEK 3.

⸻ SALAMANDER LAYERS: Passionate vesture that evokes the hot volcanic holdings of Gradlon. Its burgundy two piece is paired with a rose-red blouse, endowing ventilation with an open neckline for when things get too hot. Each shiny statement piece is meticulously placed. The pink boutonnière a homage to someone who is no longer here.

STRING OF PEARLS (Rafal)

BLACK FEATHER: received from Edelgard and Fogado

WHITE FEATHER: received from Ivy and Nel

STRING OF PEARLS: received from Alm

SMALL BELL: received from Dorothea

TEARDROP CRYSTAL: received from Bernadetta

[dragonsholygrail]

having thoughts about the bird hybrids building us a nest and fucking us in it

Now that you were living with the all male bird hybrid colony, they knew that you needed a proper nest. Your fully human body couldn’t handle the rough textures of branches, plastic, and other materials they found on their hunts.

No, you deserved only the best. The biggest and softest of nesting materials. Your gorgeous plump body could only rest on the most exquisite blankets and pillows. Anything less and they would shred it to pieces with a fierce ferocity. You needed the best humans had to offer.

They had minimal experience with the fully human populace outside of what they saw in passing and going to your dance classes. They much preferred to stay in purely hybrid spaces. But for you they would do anything and go anywhere.

Flying into the human city in a large group, the colony swoops down, peering through the windows of human homes. They were in awe seeing how comfortable all these humans lived with all these pillows and blankets on their couches, chairs, and beds. They even had weird little blankets on their tables.

The colony flew to every house they could that had an unlocked window. They’d swoop in, take all they need, and swoop back out. Sure, they knew it was wrong, but where else would they get such luxuries? They wouldn’t let something silly like human laws stop them.

Returning home they get set to work. Building you the finest nest anyone’s ever seen. It was far superior to other hybrids nests close by. The colony felt pride in how well they took care of you.

When setting up the reveal they turned it into this whole show, also wanting you to see how well they could take care of you as your new official mates. Your gasp of awe as you set your eyes on the huge pile of blankets and pillows has them preening, their features ruffling as they damn near start peacocking.

Hands are all over you in a way you’ve grown to find overwhelming pleasant as they guide you into the nest. They lay you down and you’re so busy looking around you barely notice as they slip your clothes off.

“Where did you guys get all of this?” You ask in your surprise, your mind only starting to let you feel a bit concerned as to what they could’ve gotten into now.

But there’s no need for questions, not when you all could be doing something so much better. They liked you all mindless and too dazed to even speak. They should definitely get started on that.

“Do you like it, mate? We should test it out first to make sure. If you don’t I’m sure the human wouldn’t mind getting their stuff back.”

You’re already so breathless as their hands roam over you, massaging your flesh in their hands, pinching at your nipples, and gliding through your soaked folds. But some of their words do manage to get through.

“Wha—“ you start before you’re effectively cut off by one of your mates sliding inside your hot cunt in one solid stroke.

You don’t know how many hours pass as your mates break in their new nest with you. Fucking into you with so much love and tenderness. This is your new home, the place for you to be with them always. As they have you squirming and writhing on each of their cocks your heart feels so full.

They brush and cover you in their feathers, forcing the most pleasant sensations over every inch of your soft and squishy body. They thrust their cocks as hard and as deep inside you as they can, wanting to reach a whole new level of connection with you, their precious mate.

All of the bird hybrids relish in each beautiful orgasm you give them, falling off the edge over and over, clenching down on their thick cocks as though you never wanna leave. And maybe you don’t. This nest and them with you inside of it is pure bliss.

By the time they’re done with you, you feel like you’re floating. They’re all cuddled around in a big pile, sated coos and tweets echo through the air. Even if they aren’t touching you at the moment you can feel each of them in your heart. Their warmth and their caress has your body humming wonderfully.

You suddenly don’t care where exactly they got these blankets and pillows from. All you know is that you wanna keep it.

[ramayantika]

Krishna (mystery academia)

I was inspired from that old Vishnu post and that Delhi vala post so here we go. No idea how this will turn up though par dekhte hain.

No, it can't be a dream. You have pinched yourself twice, and your sister has been calling your name out from the past five minutes, but you can't help yourself. Your eyes are transfixed at that giant grey cloud hovering majestically in the sky. A face is etched on the cloud. He looks enchanting.

Your books have fallen on the floor. A mysterious flute tune rings in your ear. You haven't heard it anywhere recently, but the melodious tune starts to grow too loud. Look carefully, who is the girl in a pink saree, her golden bangles blind your vision and you hear a boy's sweet laughter before your legs give out.

It's Janmashtami night. The clock struck 12 and kids from your society broke the pot. They jump around in getting some money from the dahi handi while the adults clap and call their kids to come home. Everybody chants jai shri krishna and bows down folding their hands. You too close your eyes. Once you raise your head to look at the Krishna murti, your eyes see a person standing behind the murti, twirling a flute with his nimble fingers. Someone snaps their fingers beside your ear. The figure vanishes.

'yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata abhyutthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srijamyaham' Goosebumps rise on your skin and a divine vision graces your being. The sun and the stars collide, but everybody keeps breathing. The sound of a conch fills your mind and you see someone larger than any human, than any other organism on earth stand in a battlefield. He looks fierce once and then in a blink turns as calm as a river.

'paritranaya sadhunam vinashayacha dushkritam dharma sansthapanarthaya sambhavami yuge yuge' Tears flood down your eyes as you wake up from yet another dream of this all pervading misery encircling the world that has given itself to crimes and murders, forgetting that the quest for lust, greed, pride and ruthless power has gone in vain. Once again you stand on a battlefield witnessing hundreds and thousand of mighty warriors flanked by their elephants and horses. On your side stands one man. Just one man -- wielding a chakra and a large mace. He charges off at every soldier. In seconds bodies pile up on the battlefield and a guttural cry pierces your ears. The lone warrior clutches every fallen body and weeps.

The sweet smelling fragrant chandan makes you smile. The old temple priest, a gentle soul patiently applies tilak to all the devotees. After ten people comes your turn to apply the tilak. The priest's eyes brighten as if he has known you since long. You don't know him. This Krishna temple is far away from your home. The priest looks back at the beautifully decorated Krishna murti and smiles. You blink and turn your eyes to a pillar beside the garbhagriha. There stands a boy too gorgeous to be real, a form so enchanting that it etches itself on your eyes. You feel your heart thumping as the fragrant chandan clouds your senses. You are about to fall, but that lovely looking boy catches you in his arms. Flowers fall on your head and a sweet voice whispers, "Will you finally come back, sakhi?"

The night sky is full of stars tonight which is highly unusual for this busy city. Two stars gleam the brightest. You try to figure which constellation they belong too until hundreds of stars come together forming an image of a peacock feather.

At Prem Mandir in Vrindavan, you eagerly watch all the moving sculptures showing different pastimes of Krishna. Somewhere nearby, a group of ladies are singing Meerabai's songs. Your feet tap on their own accord and you feel yourself sway. When did you raise your arms to the sky and twirl? Nobody knows. Your family watches you laugh and dance in the temple. You look at no one but Krishna. The handsome boy from the temple is back again wearing bright yellow clothes -- not too hard to miss. A rough shake on your shoulders makes you open your eyes. The devotees in the temple are staring at you, but you blush in awareness of a certain dark one looking at you.

You sit gazing at the cool waters of Yamuna, the river which played an important role in Krishna's life. She saw his arrival into Gokul and his departure to Mathura. The texts and the old say that she later accompanied him as his wife to Dwaraka. You bow your head at her and dip your feet into the water. Nobody is at the ghat, it's all quiet and peaceful. Yamuna cools your body and a sense of calmness pervades your mind. You feel yourself slipping somewhere. The river like a gentle mother's touch touches your skin. "Do not fear, friend."

The car is about to cross the borders of Vrindavana. You feel your heart cry for an unknown separation. All these nights, you heard female voices whispering, "do not leave." At dawn you woke up with the sounds of a flute and sometimes your evenings were blessed with a boy gracing your hotel's terrace at sunset. He carried a peacock feather with him. You never shared a word with him nor did he with you. The steep silence yet felt comfortable.

Should I stay? Should I go? Should I call that boy and say goodbye, but how do I find him? What is this feeling in my heart? I feel it break into pieces. The driver caught your eye in the mirror and you hear a screeching break, The small flute replica hits the backside of the mirror and there you see a divine view once again.

Surrounded by cows, his feet crossed, he stands with a flute donning yellow garbs. You see the sun and the moon in his eyes. The universe gleams in his limbs. He appears magnificent. The divine sound of the conch rings again and you fall at his feet. 'I am all yours, Shyam.'

'Glad to have you back finally sakhi...' Red palms touch your forehead and the figure in front shines with bright white light like a halo around him. A lotus flower is placed on the last page of your book over Krishna's photo. The afternoon sky is now grey and far away you see a dark cloud emerging towards you.

"It shall start again, isn't it?"

Tagging the sakhis: @sanskari-kanya @shut-up-rabert @krishna-sahacharini @ketchup-jar-ka @arachneofthoughts @jessbeinme15 @ma-douce-souffrance @tumhari-bhairavi @manwalaage @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @reallythoughtfulwizard @bambioleo @morally-gayy @krishna-priyatama @kaal-naagin

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and  loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door. 

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—” 

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.” 

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize. 

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Flies

Ineffable Bureaucracy Week Day 2: Flies ***

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did.”

“Well, can I ask another?”

“You just-- heh. Fine, fine. Ask away.”

“Why Lord of the Flies, of all things?”

“Well, I designed them.”

“Ah.”

“You sound surprised. Were you expecting a more sordid tale?”

Leaning back on the wooden bench, idly watching the swarm of flies feeding on the remains of what had been a fish before the small stream dried out in the heat of summer, Gabriel shrugged. “It never occurred to me that someone had the task of creating these… smaller… life forms, at some point.”

A huff, the sting of an elbow against his side. Not a lot of sting, to be honest. Beelzebub could certainly do worse, which meant they were holding back. The thought made Gabriel smile just a touch. 

“They took as much work as bigger ones, you know. There are hundreds of thousands species still in existence, and there used to be more. And besides, I didn’t just work on life forms. I made my fair share of star systems, I’ll have you know, while you were starting out your career as a messenger pigeon.”

The smile turned into a frown. “Delivering messages was vital in order to ensure all of us were working according to the same--”

“Lord of the Pigeons. Has a nice ring to it.”

“No one ever called me pigeon, thank you so very much,” Gabriel informed them. “Although some did refer to me as the Peacock of the Angels…”

“Let me guess. You took it as a compliment?”

Gabriel blinked. “Wasn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of it.”

“Humans like peacocks, don’t they?”

“Symbol of vanity. It does fit you. How did you even live with yourself in the millennia before tailored suits and silk ties were a thing?” Beelzebub asked, and Gabriel was almost annoyed. Except that they causally leaned the side of their head against his shoulder, and he promptly forgot how to be annoyed.

“Well-- I believe we’re getting sidetracked here. You haven’t told me why it’s Lord of the Flies. I mean, you surely made more impressive things you could make your title about, no?”

A soft scoff. “Absolutely not. Flies are my masterpiece.”

“... Because they fly where they’re not wanted, make noise, and are annoying?”

“I’m sorry, when did this conversation turn to angels?” Beelzebub asked, looking up, and Gabriel laughed, placing a hand over… the approximate location where a heart would be, if he had human internal organs. 

“Oh, ouch. A low blow, that.”

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.”

They both turned their gaze back to the small swarm of flies; Gabriel would have been perfectly content to let the matter drop and focus on nothing but the unnatural warmth against the shoulder Beelzebub was leaning on. Except that he didn’t.

“So, what is it about them?”

“About what?”

“Flies. What makes them so perfect?”

“Aside from being emblematic of putrefaction, death, and decay?”

“Well, yes. Aside from that.”

Still leaning on his shoulder, Beelzebub held out a hand, and a few of the flies separated themselves from the swarm, coming to buzz around their hand, landing on their fingers. 

“First of all, they can outmaneuver any angel or demon. See how they fly, hover, land upside down? I made them some balancing organs to function like gyroscopes. They are the greatest aerial acrobats of all Creation. And this is just one of the families - the parasitic ones are a marvel of their own. There is this genus that lays eggs in ants, and once the larvae is big enough, it decapitates the ant to keep growing--”

They talked, on and on, and Gabriel was all too happy to listen. It had been a very, very long time since he himself had felt anything much about the wonders of Creation; it had sort of grown old, like gorgeous scenery you pass by every day to work and back until it’s really nothing more than a backdrop. He’d even forgotten which parts of it he’d had a hand in making himself. How ironic, he thought, that the Grand Duke of Hell never forgot what they made.

All things bright and beautiful, as a famous hymn went, and they’d all been so very proud of it all, once. All things wise and wonderful.

Nothing had really seemed bright and beautiful in a very long time. Nothing had seemed all that wise, and nothing had seemed all that wonderful.

Until now.

Beelzebub got so animated when talking, and Gabriel found himself marveling at each minute facial expression they made while describing a type of fly that looked like a spider and lived in the fur of bats to feed on their blood. Probably not something that fit most of the known universe’s definition of bright, beautiful or wise, he thought.

But most of the known universe never got to sit under the scorching August sun with Beelzebub’s head against a shoulder, listening as they talked about their most complex and beloved creations, watching said creations dance around their fingers.

No one else but him, and Archangel Gabriel-- I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God --had never felt luckier in his entire existence.

[kinshenewa]

Because of @missterious-figure , I have created yet another OC. And revived an old one in the name of their Wine and Feathers AU.

So the revived one was an OC I made a while ago, a gorgeous bird with a sultry gaze and pretty swirls on her wings. In some contexts, she is an actual harpy, in others, she is a robotic suit mannde by a human.

The OC is a trans peafowl. Originally born male, thus possessing the plumage of a male, but she always felt like a female. So she did her best to pass as female, but she wasn't really accepted by the other peafowl hens (not ostracized, but jealous that such a gorgeous peacock would rather flirt with men than them). She was captured young (13 in human years), and not really treated well by the zookeepers who took care of her.

Her handlers were two males, who mocked her and made fun of her for trying to be a female. I don't yet know how, but she got ahold of something with a lot of estrogen and tried to have as much as possible (maybe some fruit or rock, or actual pills thrown by a zoo-goer). She also did a lot of workouts, because she was lucky enough to once get a hold of an unlocked phone, so she did as much research as possible before it could be taken away.

She did workouts and such to try and make her pecs as big as possible, preening her feathers in such a way to try and make her chest as big as possible to try and resemble breasts (the push-ups worked better, she was constantly preening her chest due to the feathers not sticking out as much as she liked)

She once attempted to cut off that part, but with only her beak, she wasn't able to get very far. After that, they had to put a cone on her to prevent her from trying that again.

Still debating on whether or not she has arms (and if she doesn't, whether or not she just wasn't born with them or they were removed for some reason)

I let this sit in drafts overnight to see how it would ferment. It is ready for posting.

[marc--chilton]

ik i said furry au but honestly i was thinking just straight up critters

i went for mostly canines because that's what i know about lol but i like your non-canine interpretations!

if i'm going a bit more out there wilson is a phiddipus johnsoni jumping spider. i like jumping spiders. they've got personality. they waggle their arms at you. phiddipus johnsoni has teal arms and a red booty but it's not dangerous and jumping spiders on the whole tend to be friendly to people. house would be a noble false widow- looks like a brown widow but is not nearly as dangerous (not pleasant but apart from bacteria risk, not going to kill you, kinda like a bee or a wasp sting if you're not allergic), because he actually is a decent person underneath all the cruel bastard facade. chase is a peacock spider! they're a type of jumping spider like phiddipus johnsoni but they're of a different genus (they're maratus volans) and they're really funky looking and they dance and they're australian. i think all of those are chase. thirteen is a striped lynx spider- they're similar to her in coloration and they've got spiky pedipalps on their legs! they look fearsome but to humans they pose little threat (the bite hurts but you'll be fine). foreman is some form of spider in the family trachelidae. they're kinda normal and if they bite you it'll hurt but nothing will happen and some of them have dapper markings just like foreman. cameron is an antilles pinktoe tarantula. really pretty. they're known to be shy but they also can throw their hair at you if they want to. so watch out. taub is a micropholcus fauroti (daddy long legs) because i think it's funny to have a him be a long-legged spider. cuddy is a black widow because i would be scared of her if i knew her in real life but she is so gorgeous. aaaaaand masters is a joro spider. they're very beautiful (vibrant blue and yellow bodies with black and orange legs) and very large (about palm-sized) but not dangerous and they're very docile.

i like bugs

-🎸

there are bugs indeed

[hag-lad]

RANKED: MY TOP TEN FAVORITE NANDAMURI TARAKA RAMA RAO JR LOOKS

Us Jr NTR fans are blessed to have quite the chameleon oosaravelli as our fave, because there are so many glorious looks to keep us entertained over his illustrious 30-film career. It was SO GODDAM HARD to choose just ten, but here they are! Gun to my head! His ten finest looks!

10. Krishna's pink shirt in Brindavanam

I remember when these "fcuk" shirts were all the rage, but nobody ever wore it quite like Krishna! He looks sooooo good in pink! What a little hottie. With the earrings too?!!?! Goddam it. Just. Goddam this man.

9. Kusa's mullet for Doschestha

Styling wise, I feel nothing towards this, except maybe a spark of delight to see Tarak in pink yet again. But look, Kusa does not know how to dress, and I love that for him. This look is all about THE HAIR!!!! We never see Tarak with hair this long, but it's so fucking GOOD!!!!!! The little ponytail!!!!!!!! How could one not fall in love?!

8. Simhadri's fishnet vest for Chinnadamme Cheekulu

Oh go OFF, King!!!!!!!! Look at the sheer, unfiltered ATTITUDE he's serving! Absolutely no one on Earth looks good in light-dark wash jeans (the true blight of the 2000's) but this son of a bitch pulls it off!!!! How does he do it?!

7. Munna's saffron headband in Andhrawala

Okay, so conceptually, this is the same thing as Simhadri (headband, open shirt, slutty vest, jeans) but I prefer these colors! I also prefer Munna's facial hair; it's a little more grown out, and I love Tarak most when he is FURRY. And FAT! I think Munna's got a couple pounds on Simhadri? Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't care. I love them both so much.

6. Jai's Swing Zara ensemble in Jai Lava Kusa

God, Jai is such a fucking peacock, isn't he? A total queen, the last of the old school gays. I have so much respect for his drip. Jai would never, ever, in a million years, let mortal eyes witness him looking anything less than spectacular. His beard is groomed, his hair is moussed, every stitch of clothing on his body is tailored and professionally pressed, and you know what? I think that goes for his underwear too. Or idk, maybe he's freeballin' it. He can do whatever he wants, quite frankly.

5. Tarak's Academy Awards ensemble

Who on earth would dare deny how positively GORGEOUS Tarak looked on this night!? Head to toe, so exquisite, so dashing. The bejeweled tiger! The rich black velvet! The eye makeup! The natural hair! Everything to love.

4. Tony's baby face in Oosaravelli

I want to just grab his widdol cheeks and squish them!!! He looks like an angel! A cherub!!!! This is so obviously the cutest Tarak has ever looked, but he's still so fucking sexy and alluring??!?! HOW DOES HE DO IT???!!?!! I also love that liiiiiitle bit of edge he's giving with the earrings and the neck tattoo... even if it is just his own name, lmfao.

3. Ramakrishna's tank top in Rakhee

Look at this fucking BEAR!!!!!!!! I'm not gonna sugarcoat this, kids. Ramakrishna is fluffy and hot and sweaty and I bet he smells salty and I want to HUFF him so fucking bad. The lil beads of sweat take me out, god I love how raw and sexy and manly he is. Absolute HUNK, I fucking cannot say it any other way. This is a gay pornstar. I beat my meat.

2. Young Yama in Yamadonga

Oh COME ONNNN!!!! THIS is how His Majesty Nandamuri Taraka Rama Rao Jr. was meant to walk the earth: Clad in gold, dripping with jewels, eyeliner on fleek (or, as my mother would say, "on flique") just taking up ALL THE SPACE and commanding ALL THE ATTENTION. He wears regality so very well, so naturally, I become a bootlicking monarchist just looking at him!!! Drag me to hell, Young Yama!!!

1. Komuram Bheem's langoti in RRR.

Hey, you knew Bheema had to be number one!!!! I've never seen a human being look hotter than this, this is just PEAK. The body hair!!!! The nosering!!!!! The muscles!!!!!! He is fucking CUT, Tarak had to work so goddam hard for so long to look like this, I genuinely hope he never does anything like this again, but MY GOD the art is worth it. Shoutout to Rajamouli for not whitewashing him so we could behold the beauty and majesty of his real skin color!!!!! With his natural hair too!!?!?!? SEXIEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED, case closed, no argument, go home, we're done. Bheem is hot. Ram's a lucky man.

[campgender]

ID: a reply by @librarycards which reads: there's much to be said about butchfemme mirroring but it strikes me that once in an airport a Black woman with gorgeous acrylics was working at this cafe and i watched her, in one smooth motion, open a soda can with a little card she pulled out of her pocket; the thing is, i had just shorn my nails right down to the quick for practical and sensory reasons and also can't open stuff when they're like this, and i've been using that strategy ever since. end ID

YES oh my god i feel like i’m gonna weep reading this, i feel this particular solidarity so deeply

i left the house for the first time in 5 months for bloodwork on monday & the Latina phlebotomist complimented my nails & on the way home my femme & i (both white) were talking about the presentation-disability-race-class intersections of like

1) white doctors cannot handle my buzzcut-acrylics-beard-tits situation, & i don’t let them see it — even though i’d be more comfortable if i could, thus the months i spent coming home from an appointment & immediately putting on a dress to do my nails.

Black & Latina phlebotomists may assume i’m a cis woman but they talk to that nonexistent woman like she matters, like she’s full of style & humor & pain, so i can still describe the exact peacock feather pattern on my extra-long stilettos when the medical assistant complimented them what must’ve been close to a year ago. i am — i’ve been challenging myself to reroute from human-centric language lately, so not humanized, but solidified by these rare affirming medical encounters. especially considering how rarely i interact with people in person beyond my two housemates, it’s so energizing.

2) to paraphrase my gf: white lesbians will make endless rude comments about your long nails & then be like why won’t any woc come to our lgbtq org? :(( meanwhile all my Black women colleagues are like omg those look amazing!!

[shabolt]

It is so insanely cool how perceptions of beauty are a constant in not only humans but nature at large:

I was watching a clip of BBC’s Earth documentaries about Pufferfish, and the fact that they spend a full week tirelessly creating these gorgeous spirals of sand and shells to attract potential mates.

This made me thing of the bowerbirds that use blue things like pebbles and milk bottle lids to decorate their nests, to the corvids that take trinkets and shiny things that appeal to them. To even peacocks with their gorgeous plumage.

It is so beautiful that everything in the world has its own ways of aspiring to and creating beauty. It just makes the world feel that little bit more magical

Images for context - Puffish Sea Circles; Satin Bowerbird Nests

[blackbird-brewster]

Paget "15% on the Kinsey Scale" Brewster

[purpleturtle9000]

*slides in through the mail slot that you have definitely always had*

Greetings friend. I do not know much about the bayverse boys (haven’t watched the movies sinceI was a smol) but having said that, I request you assign them favorite movies, to watch, together and on their own (if different)

Beaming vibes of something nice will happen to you today <3

Real talk I wish I had a mail slot those thinks look cool as hell. But yes greetings and good vibes friend!!

Donnie is a fan of horror movies, but gets bored with most creature features because there's no logical reason for the [insert animal here] to relentlessly hunt random humans. But if a movie has lore of some kind, he loves that! He's seen a few seasons of Supernatural is what I'm saying. He loves lore-heavy movies in general, especially if there's tie-in books, but he also likes murder and mayhem. The only creature movies he does like are the Alien series. He admires the xenomorphs immensely for their pure, uncompromised killing power. (Leo really wonders about that part.)

Mikey's is Ponyo! It's a movie about transitioning between worlds, leaving behind the magical for the human, and finding unconditional love and acceptance there. Since Mikey loves video games, I hc that he favours animation over 'real life' media. That combined with his attraction to the human world, and desire to engage with it, means this is the perfect fit for him! Also the movie is downright gorgeous I mean honestly. A close second is Lilo and Stitch cause it has similar themes, and also aliens! Who doesn't love aliens?

Okay so for Raph there's an obvious answer, cause he canonically admires Vin Diesel. Except, and hear me out here - Ice Age. First of all it's a found-family movie and you can't tell me Raph isn't a fan of found family, it's literally what the turtles are. It's also about three random weirdos bonding, and one of said weirdoes changing from secretly-a-bad-guy to nearly-died-protecting-family. But also can I make it canon that the Vin Diesel appreciation is not because of any of the action movies? It's because of The Iron Giant. He cried over that movie I know it in my heart listen to me Nickelodeon-

Leo's is, ironically, a Vin Diesel movie. The Fast and The Furious, to be exact! He'd be the family car guy if it weren't for the fact that Donnie won't let anyone touch the turtle tank. As it is, he finds shiny cars very cool, even if there are parts in the later movies that he thinks are. Kinda stupid. It's part of the appeal, that boy's too uptight, he needs to relax by liking kinda-dumb action movies that heavily emphasize family bonds. He's also a huge fan of I Love Lucy because Splinter would let Leo watch it with him while the others were busy with their own things. As a treat for me, he likes the Transformers movies and sometimes calls April 'Mikaela' and everyone looks at him like he's an idiot. He needs to be a lil stupid sometimes it's good for him.

Family movie nights often involve superheroes of some kind. Sky High, Avengers, Megamind, Men In Black. Leo has a list of inaccurate sci-fi movies that will make Donnie yell at the tv because the rest of them think it's funny how worked up he gets. Mikey has a list of 100 top movies that he insists on going through to learn about human culture. They all get really invested in Leverage at one point. Once Donnie made them sit through a documentary about turtles and they threw popcorn at him through the whole thing. They watch a lot of basketball and also the security cameras at Central Park Zoo! Raph's favourite are the red pandas. Leo would not say this even under pain of death, but he likes watching the turtles. Mikey thinks it's cool that they let peacocks walk around and Donnie likes the snow leopard.

[cuddle-butch]

Potionomics fan artists pls I call to you. Potionomics animal swap where the half-animal characters are fully human and the fully human characters are part animal!

Im trying to figure out what animal everyone would be, feel free to debate with me :)

Sylvia: blightroach I think a bunny, maybe a chinchilla?, couldn’t tell you why but I’m definitely feeling cute rodent vibes

Quinn: they are a racoon to me but I’m inclined to accept possum and bat as well… bats are a symbol of clairvoyance!

Baptiste: a peacock perhaps, or a horse! Horses are often show animals and a sign of wealth

Roxanne: I know Roxanne is a demon, not human but imagine her being a half-goat or snake demon

Mint: a very dog coded character. She would be a hunting breed most likely, golden retriever/Labrador vibes frrr

Corsac: he kinda gives me heron vibes, aloof and solitary bird boy

Xid: hold on I must consult my Xid friend… a bluejay! Free spirited and musical, she also likes bugs :) thank you @good-or-bad-luck

Helene: I could see her as a type of big cat, a dangerous but alluring predator

Robin: a fierce and reputable lion, he’s the face of strength with gorgeous hair!

Anubia: a jackel, of course! She’s Anubis inspired

[a-hell-of-a-time]

JO'S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: Jo

OOC Contact: This blog, DM's, discord (selective), my main blog

Who the heck is my muse anyway:

This blog contains three muses at present:

Andrealphus - A Great Marquis of hell, a member of the Ars Goetia, brother of Stella, ex brother in law of Stolas (or brother in law pre divorce), Ice Queen/Elsa/Frosty Bitch. My Andre is canon divergent at times and takes inspiration from a fair amount of places. He is loud, proud, arrogant, showy, flashy, just like a true peacock. He is also quite cunning, ruthless, and conniving, especially if there is a way to obtain more power/status. He does have a much softer side, but it's buried under multiple layers of ice/is at the bottom of an iceberg so good luck getting to it!

Octavia - Princess of the Ars Goetia, daughter of Stolas and Stella, and a very much emo teen who is going through some shit and has issues. My Octavia will be canon divergent as the series goes on, because I highly suspect the narrative/writing and fandom will do her so damn dirty and she deserves better. She loves both her parents (albeit Stolas more than Stella) and is filled with anger, hurt and sadness. There is a joyful soul underneath, but it hasn't been seen in years....

Caim - Camio, a great president of hell (or soon to be whenever she takes over her father's role) who is part goetian, part youkai (tengu). Currently living in the human world but visits hell whenever the need arises. Is also Andre's close, and in some cases only friend and was his ex fiance at one point. Can be calm and level headed, and serious. However, she does have quite a bit of pride and so help you if you cross her. Very good with a sword and fast as lightning. Also married to a very beautiful, drop dead gorgeous and hot kitsune wife, who is just as deadly as Caim is. Tread cautiously.

Points of interest:

Andre - Has a lot of trust and intimacy issues, and deep down tires of the aristocratic bullshit that has governed his life since birth. Is a softie who will raise hell should anyone he cares about comes to harm.

Octavia - She's going through it and just wishes to be happy again. She takes after her dad more than her mom, especially when expressing joy/happiness.

Caim - Is a half blood/mix of demon and youkai, which makes it hard for her to truly settle in either world. She does her best to make it work, though!

What they’ve been up to recently:

Andre - Has been dealing with the bullshit that is Stella's divorce, her relation to the imp assassin she hired to off Stolas, and generally staving off the inevitable anxiety and panic attack both. Also struggling with intimacy and coming to terms with many personal issues. He's not handling any of these as well as he thinks he is.

Octavia - Found out the truth behind her parent's relationship, learned that her mother hired an assassin to take out her dad, got adopted by Lucifer in one verse, and is generally trying to make sense of the world she knew rapidly dissolving before her eyes.

Caim - Currently bouncing between realms while secretly working toward obeying her father's request: To take his spot in the Goetian hierarchy. She is trying to find a way to do this while keeping her life in the human world. She's also checking in on Andre from time to time, along with other acquaintances in hell. Sometimes her wife, Yui, will join her.

Where to find them:

Andre - His mansion, rich/fancy places, with Stella, roaming around some of the other levels of hell if required, at Goetian gatherings. But mostly you can find him in various areas of the Pride Ring.

Octavia - Stolas's mansion, with her mother, or roaming the Pride Ring.

Caim - At Andre's mansion, in various places in the Pride Ring, or her home on the outskirts of Tokyo.

Current plans:

Flesh out all three of my muses; have Octavia find her family again (found or otherwise) and connect with her old, happy self; have Andre find love and stable relationships, platonic or otherwise while also getting over his hangups with intimacy while also slowly letting go of the politics and bullshit that govern his life; just use Caim more in rp's and flesh her out as her own person instead of an Andre accessory.

Desired interactions:

Andre - enemies to lovers romance, shipping shenanigans, friendships or people tolerating him, threads where his beliefs and mindset are challenged, Andre finally losing his shit on Stella and the two having a full blown argument that ends in either a mess, or a better understanding of each other. Give me messy family drama! Also drama with other Goetia and befriending more sinners and those of the lower class.

Octavia - Found family, finding friends and just getting to be a happy teen?

Caim - I will take anything. Please interact with her.

Offered interactions:

I have a bunch of memes and open posts on my blog, but if you'd like to plot my DM's are open!

Current open post/s:

Open Posts, Memes, or any dash commentary posts tbh.

Anything else?:

Rules l Muses

I stole this from the dash.

[beacansidhe]

An AU where homesteader and bird enthusiast Diluc finally indulges in his lifelong dream of raising peafowl, starting with a beautiful peacock he drove halfway across Teyvat to pick up. He dotes upon the gorgeous bird for three days, until he goes to check up on a suspicious sound on the third night and discovers not his new, beloved pet, but a slender, naked, breathtakingly beautiful man lounging in his enclosure instead.

“Oh, hello.” The man, who had been stretched out across the bench in the enclosure, displaying every curve and angle of his sculpted body like an artist’s muse, sits up and stretches. “I didn’t expect to see you here so late. I don’t suppose you have something more substantial to eat, do you? I don’t like this kind of thing.” He gestures to the birdfeed in the dish across the enclosure, hardly pecked at. “Also, it’s very cold in Mondstadt. I’m used to much warmer temperatures. Your attempt at heating the enclosure is a good start, but look at my skin. I’m freezing!”

Diluc’s breath comes out in a gust. “Clothes?”

“Hm? Oh, well, I suppose.”

“You need to put on clothes.”

“I’m afraid those would be within your purview, dear owner.”

“You need to put on clothes and get the fuck off my property before I call the Knights.”

The man looks stunned. His surprise morphs into fear as Diluc stalks into the enclosure, fists balled at his side, rage eclipsing his red, red eyes.  

“Where is my bird? What the fuck did you do to him, you creep?”

“I feel there has been some sort of misunderstanding here—”

“I haven’t misunderstood a damn thing. Get out before I make you get out, and tell me where you put the bird. I am more than capable of making your life hell.”

The strange, beautiful man backs himself into a wall as Diluc approaches with speed, and shoves out his hand, signaling him to stop.

“Wait!” He pushes back his stunning blue hair, iridescent in the bright lamplight much like a peacock’s plumage, and gestures to his right eye—which is scarred conspicuously just like his beloved bird’s.  

Diluc stops in his tracks, all the ire he had been carrying in his body draining out of him instantly.

“Yes, do you see? I am the bird.”

When Diluc makes no further attempts to charge at him, the man relaxes somewhat, next gesturing to his right ankle, which is red and indented in the same general shape as the broken leg tag he picks up out of the bedding. Diluc had put that tag on him this morning.

“Name,” he says curtly.

“Pardon?”

“What is the name of my peacock?”

The man sighs dramatically, as if displeased. “Dawn.”

He should continue interrogating this man making such an outrageous claim, but he is distracted by a much more pressing thought. “Is there something wrong with the name?”

The man—Dawn?—shrugged, looking blasé. “I think it’s a good name in theory, but for a peacock? I think you could have done a bit better, don’t you?”

“What’s wrong with ‘Dawn’?” Diluc sounds petulant even to his own ears.

“Have you ever seen a sunrise with these colours?” ‘Dawn’ gestures to his body—still distractingly nude—and picks up a loose feather from the ground, twirling it between his fingers. “I certainly haven’t.”

“Well, if it’s such a bad name, what would you have chosen?”

“Kaeya,” the man says, without even thinking about it, and graces Diluc with a charming smile so arresting it makes his heart skip a beat. “At least, that’s what my parents named me.”

Diluc trudges over to the bench, utterly dazed, and collapses onto the seat with his head in his hands, trying to process this absurd turn of events.

“You’ve heard of werewolves, I’m sure?”

Diluc covers his mouth, staring into the middle distance. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Well, wolves are not the only animal capable of changing form as the moon wills it. I come from a long, proud lineage of peafowl who take a human form once the sun falls. Or perhaps it was the other way around. It’s a curse, you see, from many moons ago…”

Diluc lets Dawn—Kaeya—prattle on, tuning him out as he considers the situation. How could he even consider believing this? He considers himself quite the rational person, but perhaps it’s that very rationality making him accept this as fact. The evidence—the scar, the leg, a name that no one but himself and his bird could know—is compelling, and why would someone trespass on his property, steal his bird, then hunker down, nude, in its enclosure? Surely no one was that mad.

“…But I got a little bit rambunctious, you see, and found myself caught up with that strange little rancher you purchased me from. I suppose it could have been worse, though. You drove from so far away, just for me! I was flattered.”

Diluc takes another glance at this man and looks away when he sees him sitting very improperly in the corner, knees up and legs spread. He’s never seen—he’s never been in this close proximity with a naked man before. A man whom he is very attracted to. His thoughts wander, his eyes unfocused.

“Were you planning on breeding me, by the way?”

Diluc nearly faints, and his freckled cheeks flare crimson. “Pardon me?!”

Kaeya stares at him like he knows something about Diluc that Diluc does not know.

“Were you planning on purchasing hens for me to breed with? Because I have to say, that might be a bit difficult for me. Not quite to my tastes, you see.”

Diluc opens his mouth, searches for words, finds none. Closes it again.

“Though, if your heart is set upon breeding me…” Kaeya rises to his feet, and prowls over to Diluc, more akin to a limber cat than a bird. He slides next to him on the bench, and Diluc lets him nuzzle into the crook of his neck, where he places his soft, human lips at the shell of his ear, and whispers in the husk of a vixen, “There is another option you could choose that I think might suit us both perfectly.”

And that is how Diluc acquired a housemate, a muse, a lover—and still does not own any peafowl.