#Skin Bracer

[gameraboy2]

He-Man Aroma that "WOWS" the Ladies! 1951 ad

[leota-nexus]

Alright so @shopwitchvamp 's latest tarot video reminded me that it's alright to have an overwhelming amount of random-ass passions in life. A tamagotchi + a couple tarot cards called my ass out to get outta my own damn way & enjoy the things I genuinely want to do! Can't argue with that so I treated myself to some selfies in my Mystic Flame skirt + scalemaile synth* prototype my partner & I made a few years back 🖤

*not actually plugged in to anything here but I haven't worn it in years! It's called The Storyteller's Gauntlet as it would trigger sound effects both intentionally from specific scales & randomly as you moved organically. These sounds included crows & ravens, howling wind, babbling brooks, armored footsteps on gravel, swordfights, & draconic fireballs plus the resulting crackling flames on the battlefield 💖🔥🐲💙

[emmieexplores2]

1946

[first-blight]

Rhidian Veritas (they/them)

Tiefling · Storm Sorcerer · The Dark Urge · Chaotic Good (as far as they know...)

[thetardigrape]

I wanna take a minute to talk about the Looks of the entire cast of OFMD S2.

I think we're all pretty familiar with the male gaze. Lots of skin, tits and ass, that sort of thing.

The female gaze has been debated, but it looks something like a sexy college professor or himbo househusband.

What OFMD S2 absolutely nails is the queer gaze.

Look at this man.

An absolutely beautiful man. Who wears crop tops and leather pants. Long hair up in a messy bun. He's wearing eyeliner. And pearls.

And here.

Drawn on facial hair. Spaulders. Bracers. Fishnet sleeves. A MOTHERFUCKING MULLET.

These badasses.

The teeth and chains. SO MUCH MAKEUP. Big fancy coat with nothing underneath. Glam met goth and fucked out these looks.

And THE SWEDE!

Cropped jacket. Ponytail. Asymmetrical button fly. Decorative chains (again).

All of this screams queer. If I saw any of these people in a bar I'd be like "Yep, one of us." The gender fuckery of it all. The feminine and the masculine all thrown in together in perfect combinations. Decoration for its own sake. Jewelry and flashy adornment and gorgeous peacockery.

And we love it. The fandom is going absolutely feral over these looks, these actors, as we very well should. There is not a single member of this cast who has not had beautiful art lovingly made depicting them.

Fuck the male gaze, fuck the female gaze. Give me the queer gaze. Give me queer creators making queer media for queer audiences and absolutely nailing it. These people are not at all what Hollywood usually thinks sexy looks like, yet we want to devour every one of them. This is what queer beauty looks like. What queer sex appeal looks like. What queer desire looks like.

Fuck yes. It's about time.

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[transmutationisms]

can u elaborate on posture being a lie

As Beth Linker explains in her book “Slouch: Posture Panic in Modern America” (Princeton), a long history of anxiety about the proximity between human and bestial nature has played out in this area of social science. Linker, a historian of medicine at the University of Pennsylvania, argues that at the onset of the twentieth century the United States became gripped by what she characterizes as a poor-posture epidemic: a widespread social contagion of slumping that could, it was feared, have deleterious effects not just upon individual health but also upon the body politic. Sitting up straight would help remedy all kinds of failings, physical and moral [...] she sees the “past and present worries concerning posture as part of an enduring concern about so-called ‘diseases of civilization’ ”—grounded in a mythology of human ancestry that posits the hunter-gatherer as an ideal from which we have fallen.

[...]

In America at the turn of the twentieth century, anxieties about posture inevitably collided with anxieties not just about class but also about race. Stooping was associated with poverty and with manual, industrialized labor—the conditions of working-class immigrants from European countries who, in their physical debasement, were positioned well below the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant establishment. Linker argues that, in this environment, “posture served as a marker of social status similar to skin color.” At the same time, populations that had been colonized and enslaved were held up as posture paradigms for the élite to emulate: the American Posture League rewarded successful students with congratulatory pins that featured an image of an extremely upright Lenape man. The head-carrying customs associated with African women were also adopted as training exercises for white girls of privilege, although Linker notes that Bancroft and her peers recommended that young ladies learn to balance not baskets and basins, which signified functionality, but piles of flat, slippery books, markers of their own access to leisure and education. For Black Americans, posture was even more fraught: despite the admiration granted to the posture of African women bearing loads atop their heads, community leaders like Dr. Algernon Jackson, who helped establish the National Negro Health Movement, criticized those Black youth who “too often slump along, stoop-shouldered and walk with a careless, lazy sort of dragging gait.” If slouching among privileged white Americans could indicate an enviable carelessness, it was seen as proof of indolence when adopted by the disadvantaged.

This being America, posture panic was swiftly commercialized, with a range of products marketed to appeal to the eighty per cent of the population whose carriage had been deemed inadequate by posture surveys. The footwear industry drafted orthopedic surgeons to consult on the design of shoes that would lessen foot and back pain without the stigma of corrective footwear: one brand, Trupedic, advertised itself as “a real anatomical shoe without the freak-show look.” The indefatigable Jessie Bancroft trained her sights on children’s clothing, endorsing a company that created a “Right-Posture” jacket, whose trim cut across the upper shoulders gave its schoolboy wearer little choice but to throw his shoulders back like Jordan Baker. Bancroft’s American Posture League endorsed girdles and corsets for women; similar garments were also adopted by men, who, by the early nineteen-fifties, were purchasing abdominal “bracers” by the millions.

It was in this era that what eventually proved to be the most contentious form of posture policing reached its height, when students entering college were required to submit to mandatory posture examinations, including the taking of nude or semi-nude photographs. For decades, incoming students had been evaluated for conditions such as scoliosis by means of a medical exam, which came to incorporate photography to create a visual record. Linker writes that for many male students, particularly those who had military training, undressing for the camera was no biggie. For female students, it was often a more disquieting undertaking. Sylvia Plath, who endured it in 1950, drew upon the experience in “The Bell Jar,” whose protagonist, Esther Greenwood, discovers that undressing for her boyfriend is as uncomfortably exposing as “knowing . . . that a picture of you stark naked, both full view and side view, is going into the college gym files.” The practice of taking posture photographs was gradually abandoned by colleges, thanks in part to the rise of the women’s movement, which gave coeds a new language with which to express their discomfort. It might have been largely forgotten were it not for a 1995 article in the Times Magazine, which raised the alarming possibility that there still existed stashes of nude photographs of famous former students of the Ivy League and the Seven Sisters, such as George H. W. Bush, Bob Woodward, Meryl Streep, and Hillary Clinton. Many of the photographs in question were taken and held not by the institutions themselves but by the mid-century psychologist William Herbert Sheldon. Sheldon was best known for his later discredited theories of somatotypes, whereby he attributed personality characteristics to individuals based on whether their build was ectomorphic, endomorphic, or mesomorphic.

[...]

Today, the descendants of Jessie Bancroft are figures like Esther Gokhale, a Bay Area acupuncturist and the creator of the Gokhale Method, who teaches “primal posture” courses to tech executives and whose recommendations are consonant with other fitness trends, such as barefoot running and “paleo” eating, that romanticize an ancestral past as a remedy for the ills of the present. The compulsory mass surveillance that ended when universities ceased the practice of posture photography has been replaced by voluntary individual surveillance, with the likes of Rafi the giraffe and the Nekoze cat monitoring a user’s vulnerability to “tech neck,” a newly named complaint brought on by excessive use of the kind of devices profitably developed by those paleo-eating, barefoot-running, yoga-practicing executives. Meanwhile, Linker reports, paleoanthropologists quietly working in places other than TikTok have begun to revise the popular idea that our ancient ancestors did not get aches and pains in their backs. Analysis of fossilized spines has revealed degenerative changes suggesting that “the first upright hominids to roam the earth likely experienced back pain, or would have been predisposed to such a condition if they had lived long enough.” Slouching, far from being a disease of civilization, then, seems to be something we’ve been prone to for as long as we have stood on our own two feet.

[polarisbear]

more dweebs (Very detailed image description below.)

a drawing of grian, ethoslab, tangotek, and smallishbeans. grian is in his season 10 fishing skin and the rest are in different outfits referencing their base themes.

grian is in his fishing skin looking very tired with his fishing rod swung over his shoulder and an ear pierced with a brassy fish hook. he’s a cod hybrid with fin-ears and a stubby tail. behind him blue snail is munching on some leaves.

etho is posing with a neck sheepishly behind his neck and the other resting on his bag. he’s in the postal uniform polo with a green, canadian maple-themed yukata loosely worn and slipping off his shoulder. he has fingerless gloves on under. he is wearing dark red pleated pants and light green heeled crocs. he has a black and red messenger bag with a trellis motif. etho is an arctic fox hybrid with brown legs and streaks through his hair. doodles below show what his paws look like under the crocs and one shows him posing with a note saying “ties up sleeves.” above him another note reads “streaks bc his winter coat is shedding.”

tango is posing confidently with a wrench. he is in the postal uniform polo, with chunky brown and orange gloves and boots, topped off with red, pinstriped overalls. one strap is not around his shoulder, and on the belt around the overalls they carry a small bag, a screwdriver, and a vial of redstone. he has on brown goggles with blue lenses. tango has fire for hair and pointed ears. above him there’s a doodle of the messenger bag that’s secured on his back. it shows how the orange straps tuck over the whole outfit and lead to a dark red and pinstripe blue bag with cog detailing.

joel is giving an indignant pose like he’s complaining. he is wearing a black undershirt that fades out into his light green claws, a pink kimono with only one sleeve of cherry blossom patterns, and a dark grey vest and cherry blossom-patterned obi tie it off. the vest has a cherry blossom crest on the back. joel also has on dark pink pants with a cherry blossom motif on the bottom and on his left arm there’s a bracer with a screen built in. crawling all over the undershirt there are cybernetic patterns connecting joel’s skin through to the undershirt. joel is a tanuki, hence why he has a leaf on his head. around joel are doodles showing the crest on the back of his vest and the pattern on the sleeve.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Kraven The Hunter x fem!reader

Summary: You meet a dangerous stranger in the woods...

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: kinda dark but still tame, cheating (reader), unprotected sex (pls use contraceptives in real life!), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, rough sex, riding, he spits in reader's mouth 👀, kissing (duh), fingering, light misogyny, ik he has a name but i use Kraven in this, bad russian google translate maybe (I AM SO SORRY I DID MY BEST—if you speak Russian and have any suggestions… please 🙏 ) LISTEN…I'M SORRY LIKE I COULD NOT RESIST WRITING FOR HIM…HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? Probably NOT comic accurate…

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

You don't know what you hate more at the moment—your boyfriend or the continuous sweat forming on your hairline from the dampness and heat. It's becoming dark outside, which should cool the air and help with the heat but not as much with how pissed you are at Chris. 

With a small squeal, you stumble on the roots of a tree, gasping as your ankle twists awkwardly in your hiking shoes and the buzz of an insect flies around your ear. You swat your hand near your cheekbone. You're holding the branches you'd found in one arm now as the stickiness of the air makes your skin feel heavy. 

Screw you bugs! 

Screw you woods!

And most of all screw you Chris!

You're too immersed in your hatred that you don't realize you've fallen into an animal trap until it's too late. You scream, the branches falling from your arm as your body folds and the net wraps around you, pulling you up into the air. The rope burns your exposed skin as you squirm. This had to be a nightmare, some sick cruel joke Chris is playing on you. You half hope he'll jump out from behind the bushes and laugh in your face. 

You wait in silence for a moment but your boyfriend doesn't show up. 

"Help!" You scream out helplessly, "Is anyone there? Please, I-I'm trapped," you call. 

"Hmm, yes, that is the point of one of those," a deep voice drawls from behind you and you wince. You try to strain your neck to look at the newcomer but you can't move enough to see who it is. It certainly isn't Chris. Chris doesn't sound like that.

"Please, can you help me?" you plead shamelessly now. 

Your heart is beating so hard. You hear the creak of leaves and dirt as whoever stands behind you walks closer to you. You feel them turn the entire net around and soon you're face to face with dark piercing golden eyes. A color you can only describe as supernatural. 

"Now why would I help you? You stumbled into my trap—that makes you my prize."

The man is tall and strong. His shoulders are broad and his hair curls messily across his forehead. He's wearing an open vest made of brown leather and adorned with fur, thick leather bracers, and a necklace where three animal teeth hang.

You concentrate on the sharpness of the teeth for a while, ignoring how very much shirtless the man is against them, but eventually you lose focus as with a swift motion, he uses a knife he'd taken from his belt to cut the net and you crash to the ground. 

Immediately, the dirt sticks to your sweaty skin as you scramble up onto your feet. You brush hair from your face and stumble back, almost falling again until the man's large, calloused hand finds your forearm and he holds you still. "Calm down," he says hoarsely, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening.

"You don't wanna run from me, gorgeous. Clearly, you don't know your left and right around here but I do. So, stay still for me so I can think about what I'm gonna do with you."

He has a thick accent and you find yourself nodding. He drops your arm and you don't move. You look up at him as he looks around, rubbing his hand over his jaw like he's debating his next moves. You can see his knife, which he has secured into his belt again, glistens with blood and your stomach churns. 

"Please don't hurt me," you whisper.

The man stares at you blankly, his eyebrows crease as he looks you up and down. After a moment, the corners of his lips curl upwards and he moves closer. You squeeze your eyes shut, scared, and you gasp inaudibly as a tear escapes you. 

The man's thumb wipes it away, his hand cupping your cheek and he speaks a language you don't understand—russian you assume—"Я бы никогда не подумал причинить тебе боль, (I would never dream of hurting you)," His tone seems sweeter than how he'd spoken before but all hopes of him translating what he'd said disappear when he asks:

"Why are you out here all alone?"

You recover from his touch as it leaves you and you try and explain, "I'm not alone. My boyfriend," you turn to look behind you but all you see is the trees and hear the rustling of animals in the shadows, "is around here somewhere," you finish.  

"He left you? Alone? Now? It's almost dark," the man accuses as if it had been your choice.

"I- I was supposed to bring branches for the fire," you say quickly, gesturing to the branches that had fallen from your arms. The man looks where you're pointing and chuckles darkly. 

"Oh, милый (darling), those aren't branches. Those aren't even twigs."

You glare at him, not finding it funny at all, "Well, I couldn't carry the heavier ones," you defend and the man interrupts with another chuckle.

"Ah," he smirks, "so why was it you who went out? Can your man not care for you properly?"

You scrunch your nose, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man's smirk turns into a smile, his teeth showing, and you can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach as he smiles. He's handsome—almost too handsome for someone who looks like they live in the woods.

"I mean," he drawls, leaning in even closer, "what kind of man allows his woman to do all his labor, leaving her on her lonesome and vulnerable to bad men like me?" Your breath hitches and your eyes widen when he finishes, "Your man is a pathetic little boy who doesn't deserve a woman like you."

Your mind races. You want to defend Chris, tell this man that Chirs is an amazing, loving, boyfriend—but another part of you can't deny Chris had basically coerced you onto this hike, on your birthday nonetheless, and then promptly abandoned you to fend for yourself.

However, those details weren't what your mind latched onto. No. As you stare at the handsome stranger, his words ring in your ears; "bad men like me"

The man can tell and he chuckles, "Don't look so scared. I like you. You're the most entertainment I've had in a while. Come," he beckons you over, turning around and gathering his net over his shoulder. When you don't follow instantly he calls out, "I can offer you shelter and food, and a fire," he adds with a glance over his shoulder, "Unless you'd rather find your way back to your boyfriend. Your choice, милый (darling)."

So, you end up in the man's home. The man—who had finally introduced himself as Kraven— lives in a small cabin that's obviously been worn out by time and weather. All the furniture looks barely used—as if there hasn't been life inside this cabin for a long time. 

Kraven's hospitality is coarse and oddly demanding as he pours you some honey tea he made himself and hands you some bread. You don't complain, you're starving. As Kraven makes a fire, he mumbles things in Russian and occasionally he'll look over at you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hair is wet from the shower you just had and the strands stick to your cheeks.

Your mind wanders to Chris. Is he okay? It is a warmer night—so he really shouldn't freeze to death. You feel guilty for having accepted Kraven's offer but your thoughts are interrupted by the fire starting and Kraven stands. He runs a hand in his curls and drops his vest on the couch near you. You look up, suddenly extra aware of how shirtless and toned he is. 

"Продолжай смотреть на меня так, и у меня не будет другого выбора, кроме как трахнуть тебя прямо здесь и сейчас, милый, (Keep looking at me like that and I'll have no choice but to fuck you right here and now, darling)," Kraven says in a growl and the only word you recognize is the last one since he's used it a few times.

"What does милый mean?" you ask, attempting to pronounce the word but fumbling it. Kraven smirks and tilts his head as he walks closer until he's sitting next to you. 

"It's a term of endearment," he chuckles, "like darling—or honey."

You feel your cheeks burn. It's almost worse to hear him explain the term rather than just using it. You look down at your hands, feeling Kraven's warmth next to you. He smells like pine-wood and ashes and the scent is invading. You feel safer near him then you'd ever felt in Chris's arms. Guilt settles in your stomach again. 

"Ты так сладко пахнешь. (you smell so sweet)," Kraven says again and his hand comes up to move some stray hairs behind your ear. The air shifts and sexual tension settles around you and the feeling dances across your skin with fervor. 

You don't dare turn your head to look at him, afraid of how he's staring. "What does that all mean? The Russian?" you mutter.

"It means I want to kiss you, doll," Kraven chuckles and his hand cups your chin and he turns your head so you're staring at him. Your eyes are round and he chuckles, "what do you say милый (darling)? Will you indulge me? I wanna see if you taste as good as I think you do."

Your heart jumps in your throat and suddenly you feel very small compared to him. Your eyes flicker to his lips and then up to look into his eyes. They sparkle darkly and you wonder if anyone has ever been able to say no to those eyes. You surely won't be the first. You nod. 

Kraven leans in and captures your lips with passion so fierce you're afraid your lips will bruise. Still, they slide across his easily and it's as if you've been molded for one another. Kraven's hands tighten in your hair, bunching up the strands so he can control your head movements. Control. His entire demeanor screams control.

"Good girl," he mutters with a smirk against your lips and his hands move to grip your hips. You're wearing some shorts and a shirt you found in the bedroom when you changed from your shower.

You gasp as he helps you up and you straddle him now. With a humph, he lifts up his hips and slides his knife holster to the side so it isn't digging into your thigh or his. He grins wolfishly, continuing to kiss you. His lips trail up your neck and near your ear. 

It never felt like this with Chris. Sure, it had been fine—it had been good even in the beginning—but this? No, nothing could compare to this. 

Kraven's hands are large and strong against your skin as he kneads your waist and ass. "Ты такая хорошая девушка для меня (You're such a good girl for me)," he whispers, his voice hoarse, and as attractive as it is, you whine and furrow your brows.

"Please, don't talk in Russian anymore. I can't understand you," you pout, pulling him closer as you unconsciously grind your hips into his for more friction. "I wanna understand you," 

Kraven grips your hips harder and rolls them onto him, earning him a soft moan that falls from your lips. "Alright, darling, alright," he smiles and kisses you again. "Tell me, do'you want more from me? Seems like you do," he grinds your hips again, punctuating his words as he teases you mercilessly. 

You are at loss for words. This is wrong. You're cheating on your boyfriend, you try to remind yourself, with a man you met in the woods. But if this is so wrong, why does it feel so good? You moan. You desperately want to slide your shorts and panties down to allow even more friction on your clit. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you must look so needy. 

Kraven hooks his fingers in your waistband, running his thumb over your hip, reading your mind, "Is this what you want, darling? You wanna rub yourself on me like a little slut?" 

The insult shouldn't be as hot as it is, but when it's followed by a searing kiss, the word is honey on his tongue. You moan and drop your head in the crook of his neck, grasping onto his shoulders as you lift your hips so he can easily slide your panties and shorts down. "Please," you whisper, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. 

Kraven smirks and, as he holds your nape with one hand, he uses the other and finds your pussy. He explores your folds, wanting to make sure you're wet and ready for him. He rubs your clit, earning him smaller, more high pitched sounds from your parted lips as your wetness seeps over his hand. 

Kraven teases you for a little while longer, murmuring praises in your ear until he suddenly spreads his legs and you fall to your knees in front of the couch. You gasp, looking up at him from the ground. 

He looks majestic, sitting there, as if the couch was his throne and he was a King. 

Kraven's smirk widens as he fists one hand in your hair, using his other hand to lick his fingers clean of your arousal and then swiftly unbuckle his belt. He stares at you as he does this and tilts his head. "D'you do this for your boyfriend, gorgeous?" Kraven seems amused by the word boyfriend, as if it's some game to him. 

You nod, sinking onto your heels as you watch Kraven pull out his cock. He's big and hard and your eyes widen. "D'you like doing this?" he asks, his voice low. You catch his eye and shake your head honestly. You didn't like giving Chris head—but Chris's dick didn't look like this. Your eyes snap up to Kraven's cock. 

"You'll like it with me," he adds, smirking, and guides your head to his cock. You let him, having no complaints as you take him in your mouth. You're nervous at first, unsure of what to do, but soon you gain more confidence as you try and take him even deeper. 

You gag a little and Kraven just tightens his hand in your hair. 

"You can take it. I know you can, doll. There," he coos, clearly enjoying your work as you adjust your mouth around him. "There, yeah. That's my good girl." Kraven grunts out the word "my" and warmth pools in your stomach. You moan around his cock, sucking faster as if to respond yes, I am yours.

With a pop, he pulls your head away and tilts your chin. He helps you up to straddle him again, keeping you eye level as he positions his cock at your entrance. He squeezes your cheeks, opening your lips, and then spits into your mouth before claiming your lips again. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him against you and he sinks you down onto him. 

"Can you feel me, милый (darling)?" he grunts, moving you on his cock slowly, torturing you. He chuckles darkly when you whine. 

"Mmh," is the only sound you make as he fills you up. It feels so good. 

"You feel full, hm?" Kraven taunts, moving your hips a little faster as his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise. He pulls one away a moment and rips your shirt, attaching his lips to your hardened nipples as you squeal. 

"Yes, oh, I feel so full," you whimper, bouncing up on him, helping him so you can go even faster and deeper. "Shit, you're so big."

"Шлюха (slut)," he groans, the word slipping past his lips in ecstasy as he kisses and sucks across your chest. You whine, wanting him to tell you what the word means so you can understand him but Kraven smirks. He kisses your collarbone and then, using his strength, he easily flips you over so you're laying on the couch and he's on top of you now. 

Kraven sinks his cock back into you as he snaps his hips hard. You gasp, wrapping your arms around him and your nails slide up and down his back, and he groans with pleasure at the sting. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck please," you plead, eyes rolling as your body shivers.

"You're so tight around me. As if you were made just for me," he says as he continues to fuck into you. "Does your boyfriend fuck you this good?" Kraven asks, his accent thicker as he loses himself in the pleasure. His hand comes to wrap around your jaw as he holds you in place under him. 

You shake your head. 

"Слова (Words)," he growls but then curses and says, "Words, darling. Tell me."

"N-no. He doesn't fuck me this good," you whisper as Kraven's cock slides into you. You're so wet and he's so hard and this is so so wrong. 

"Yeah? You gonna run back to him now, bunny?" he snarls and nips as your earlobe. He thrusts harder and smirks at the pet name. "Hmm. run little bunny, back to your poor excuse of a boyfriend? No," Kraven grunts, as if he's made a decision, "I'm keeping you, doll. I can take care of you better than he can."

You moan at this and nod, "Please," you whisper, feeling your thighs clench around him as you can feel your orgasm approaching. 

Kraven feels it too. "You're squeezing around me, Шлюха (slut), do you wanna come?" Kraven teases and his thrusts slow. You whine and look at him, your eyes becoming teary from need. You nod.

He laughs and kisses your lips with a grin, "Alright, you can come. Go on, let yourself come all over my cock," he smirks against your skin as his sharp teeth nip at your neck. 

 You whine, letting your body finally relax as you come. You gasp, your eyes rolling from pleasure as your legs feel like jello. Kraven finishes inside you with a grunt and you whimper at the feeling.

He smiles as you sink into the cushions and your eyes flutter. His large hand comes to hold behind your head as he pulls you up and leans you against his chest. 

While Kraven's touch is comforting, it's also possessive and claiming. His thumb strokes over your hair and his lips kiss your head. He's holding you so close you're almost afraid he'll never let you go. You sigh when he slides out and picks you up in his arms as he stands.

"Good girl," he mutters as he walks you to the bathroom and adds, "You did so well for me." You let yourself relax in his arms as he promises he'll be here from now on. You're his now. 

You're so blissed out from your orgasm that your mind doesn't understand what that truly means. Instead, you shut your eyes and let him take care of you and, with a small smile, you think,

Happy. Fucking. Birthday. To. Me.

[skygoldart]

Cod Grian Cosplay Build!

The fish man himself, season 10 Grian!

Reference Sketch

Some notes:

I always end up changing somethings from the reference when making the actual outfit, although I stayed pretty close it it this time.

I initially drew him with a handlebar mustache and goatee to mimic the whiskers of a fish, however I switched to a fluffier mustache beard to match the guy from Frozen.

I also opted for my turtleneck shirt over the red sweater+collar to go for more of a fisherman vibe

Since Grian is usually drawn with parrot wings, I wanted to call back to that with red yellow and blue feathers on the bobbers.

The tail and fins

I wanted to lean into the “fish”er man design and gave him fish fins and a tail.

It’s design is based on a cod fish with striped fins based on the feathers of an osprey

To make it, I drew the tail pattern on a large piece of paper, cut it out, cut each section out of the respective fabric times two, sewed the two sides together, and lastly filled it with a ton stuffing.

The tail is heavy, but it’s fun to wack people with it.

The fins for the arms and beanie are made in a similar way, each hand sewn onto the beanie/bracers once stuffed.

The Overalls

I had originally planned for him to be wearing waders, but wanted to make the outfit more wearable for everyday wear without overheating. So I opted for some brown corduroy overalls instead.

To add a “wet” look to each pant leg, I briefly dipped each one into some black fabric dye before rinsing and drying.

The green pixels on his skin look like they could be kelp or patches so I decided to go with the latter and dug through my scrap fabric to find these green pieces.

I embroidered the edge of each piece with a unique stitch and placed them randomly on each leg.

The snails!

Of course we can’t forget about the snails

There are three snails for this project with two more eventually on the way (a plush pink snail, and a plush brown snail).

I made the clay blue snail first with polymer and attached tie tacks to the underside so I can use it like a pin and stick it anywhere on my clothes.

Same goes for the pink worm snail which is also made of clay.

The blue plush snail is based on a pattern from Etsy by willowynn with some slight modifications, mainly to the eyes/feelers, and doubling the size.

Facial hair

This was one of the parts I was the most excited about for this cosplay and the only part I didn’t do myself. I commissioned @basic-amoeba to make a custom ventilated beard, styled and everything. This part turned out so good!

Some final notes for this project

This cosplay took from Feb 20 to March 15th to complete since I was so determined to finish it before Grian changed his skin. Haha look at me now. He still hasn’t changed it.

Not pictured (cause why can I only add 10 photos 😭) is the mending book with a fish hook I made using scrap faux leather, cardboard, and some cut printer paper. I painted in galactic the word mending and sprayed the whole thing in my “enchanting” spray paint (a blue to purple iridescent glitter spray paint)

A small fun backstory to the fishing rod:

My grandpa is an experienced fisherman and has dozens of fishing poles. When I talked about this project with him, he brought me out to his workshop and pulled down the dustiest fishing rod there. He told me he had fished this fishing rod from a lake one day with the line and bait still attached. Can’t get anymore accurate to Minecraft fishing than that lol.

Obligatory cosplay photo:

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc (sounds like a bad joke) AU: A Cat, an Amazon and an underage Dead kid walk into a bar...

Selina Kyle was on official Catwoman business on the Coast of Greece, though of course she told her currently on (off again on again) boyfriend Bruce that it was just a girls weekend away. A particular jewel came to mind and it needed to be hers, ancient Obsidian carved with symbols of power (and yes, one of the symbols happened to be a cat.)

Selina knew she was getting close to the artifact when Diana Prince showed up. The no-good goody-two-shoes museum curator seemed to have a will of iron, and each time they crossed paths, the tall beauty had some passing remark about Bruce (which was really starting to get under Selina's skin) and the fact that they were just friends. Who does this chick even think she is? Just because she can speak fluent Greek, knows Selina's boyfriend's favorite bedtime story to read his kids, and has an ass that just won't quit doesn't mean she's better than her!

Selina is going to (remind herself frequently that women in competition is just a factor of the misogynistic capitalistic society they live in) do her best to keep under the radar, steal the artifact fast, and then make Bruce propose to her.

But then this weird scrawny kid shows up and asks if she's seen something of his. Selina is on the street, sitting at a table outside the local cafe conveniently located across the street from the auction house holding the artifact, when he approaches. He looks like he could be one of Bruce's kids, made distinct by his very nervous demeanor and shrunken shoulder's attempting to make him look smaller. Briefly, he tells her about a piece of black glass that has a few drawings of his on it, about the size of his palm, and may or may not have some lingering ability to... he doesn't finish his sentence.

Diana was walking across the street to go into the auction house... but to Selina's chagrin, the tall could-be-a-model crosses and approaches them instead. Her eyes are settled on the young man, and he's nervously asking her something in Greek. (How did a kid with a midwestern accent speak fluent greek?) Diana explains that he must have gotten a replica of the item showing in the Auction house somehow, and the kid looks like he's eaten a sour lemon all of a sudden.

A projectile comes hurdling at them a mere moment after the kid's cold breath becomes visible in the hot greek sun- Diana braces the impact for them both, her golden bracers revealed from under her sensible work blouse sleeves.

"Oh! You're Wonder Woman!" The kid gleefully exclaims, which makes Diana and Selina both die a little inside, before adding: "Hey, no worries about this guy, I got 'em. But could you grab that chunk of obsidian for me? It's mine and I'm seriously in hot water for having broken my cro- er- for losing it in the first place. Thanks!"

He suddenly bloomed into white hair and green eyes, a dark suit appearing from nowhere, and flew towards the threat. Wonder Woman didn't spare a single word on Selina and chased after him into combat.

Selina sipped on her coffee and, upon finishing it- casually got up, went to the auction house, and stole the Obsidian. Finders Keepers.

It was the late afternoon when Diana walked into the Bar right behind Selina with the teen at her side. He looked nervous but was eye-ing the bottles on the wall as much as he was trying to look intimidating to her. Diana looked annoyed at best, and not just with Selina.

"I think we should have a little chat, sound good to you Kitten? Princess, did you want to stay to talk too?" Selina's famous cat like grin on full display.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Lover, Please Stay

Astarion x F! Tav

(Pillow Talk part 2)

18+ complicated feelings, angst, jealousy, intimacy, talks of sex work, fingering (f!), oral (f!), forced orgasm (kinda), feral Astarion, tenderness

Tav keeping him at arms length, Astarion makes a plan to woo her back into his good graces. But his hunger, for her and her blood, proves distracting...

Masterlist, Part 1

-

True to her word, she was avoiding him.

Even leaving him at camp. He covered the sting like he always did.

"You doing all the work while I relax with a good book? Please, if you must twist my arm."

He hid the anxiety throttling him into a sultry smile. Waving goodbye to the retreating party with a wiggle of his fingers.

When they disappeared into the treeline, he turned with a scowl and pushed inside his tent. The hunger gnawing through him now in the forefront of his mind.

In avoiding him, she had inadvertently kept him from her neck.

Animal blood wasn't enough anymore. Sure technically it filled him, it did the job. But it was a meager substitution.

When her blood would burst into his mouth, it sent a crackling pleasure across the back of his skull. Sending fire in slow pulses as her blood pushed out into his veins. From his center ebbing out a warmth in rhythm to his swallowing. His cold body cracking apart with her molten river. It was a miracle he was able to stop that first night.

The bloodcall was a prickling hateful need, but the other need he felt towards her made him bristle more.

He couldn't stop thinking about the way they had crashed and smeared into each other. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing gained or lost. Just pulling mouths and pleading fingers and dizzy heat.

He felt his cock stir just from the memory and frowned.

This wouldn't do. He was too pent up, a dog in a kennel circling.

He would get back in her good graces, in one way or another.

When they had finally returned for the night, he feigned disinterest. Lounging back on a pillow outside of his tent, flicking the pages of one of his books with the tips of his fingers.

She wiggled out of her boots with adorable little grunts. Unlacing her bracers and beginning to lift up to the buckles on her breastplate.

"Here, let me." Gale stepped over, reaching for the buckles that sat on her sides.

"Oh! Thank you!" She chirped, lifting her arm to make way for his fingers, naturally let her hand fall on his shoulder.

"I guess it's only fair. You don't wear armor, so you have much less undressing to do." She hummed.

He saw the heat go to Gale's cheeks, clearing his throat.

"You know, I could continue to help you. In the future." He offered, a slight waver in his tone.

Astarion had stood before his mind had spoken to his feet. Striding over.

"Gale, dearest. You'll keep her here all night. Let faster fingers attend to our friend here."

Gale held his hands up in defeat good naturedly, but he saw a bite flash across his eyes.

A silent crackling energy passed between them.

"Our pale friend is right, I'd better return to the delectable meal I've been planning."

Gale stepped away, but not before squeezing her bicep, leaving a lingering touch there.

The wizard was lucky his blood was putrid.

Well, maybe he could still rip his throat out for fun.

As soon as Gale was out of earshot Tav sighed, speaking under her breath to him.

"Well, Gale wants to fuck me now too."

"Ah, you'll have to forgive the boy. I'm sure he hasn't seen such a ravishing creature before that dusty tower. Nothing but his hand and books."

Tav gasped, trying to kick him, but he slid away from her foot easily. His fingers snapping her buckles open with flourish.

"You're the devil." She chided, but he could see the smile on the corner of her lips.

"Devilishly handsome? I agree."

The last buckle free, he lifted the breastplate over her.

She moaned, rotating her shoulders in relief. Her undershirt sticking to her skin. The white fabric wet with her efforts.

He kept his eyes above collarbone with great effort. The outline of her full breasts in his peripheral.

"Thank you, my savior." She teased, sitting down to unbuckle from her shin guards.

He was hovering and she noticed, looking up at him expectantly.

"Darling, I couldn't help but wonder why you haven't been offering me your sweet neck."

She sat back up, hand resting on her thigh. Eyes searching his.

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd want to see me after the other night." She said plainly.

"But I guess I'm a service, after all." Said with impartial truth.

"Sure, here." She offered her wrist up to him.

He blinked, on the back foot again.

Like she had scooped into him and pulled the marrow of his person out. That uncanny ability to speak his thoughts through her mouth.

No, I'm the service. Not you, sweet girl.

"Let's wait, no reason to supp from you out in the open. With so many prying hungry eyes."

He trailed the backs of his fingers along the inside of her wrist as she lowered it.

"Meet me in my tent, okay?" He hushed, his voice coming out uncharacteristically soft.

"Of course, whatever you need." She smiled.

He felt like he needed to prove something to her, but what?

He rearranged the pillows for a third time. The candle lit canvas shroud of his tent draped in as much comfort as he could find. Or steal.

Blankets and plush pillows. Enchanted lights draped along the roof, a lavender candle burning on a plate.

He sighed, this was too much. He was being silly.

"May I come in?" She whispered outside of the closed flap.

"I'd like nothing more." He crooned, sitting as casually as he could manage.

She ducked in and blinked in surprise. Eyes trailing along.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" She started getting comfortable. Pulling the pins free from her hair and shaking it down her back. Leaving her shoes in a neat line at the entrance.

Something about seeing her like this again made his heart sing. That casual intimacy that he desired in the cradle of his tent.

She kneeled down across from him, pulling her collar away from her neck. Turning her head to the side, bending open for him.

He leaned forward and gathered her into his hands, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Breathing in.

She could feel his need, touching his arm uncertainly.

"Are you okay, Star?" She hushed.

He slid his hand down her back, his eyes closed. Fingers mapping her into his memory.

"Just- just give me a moment." His voice coming out gravelly.

"Do you want me to get undressed?" She whispered, and he nodded into the side of her neck.

She pulled her sleep shirt over her head, his hands only leaving her to toss it far in the corner.

Sat in only the underclothes hugging her hips, she waited patiently as his eyes drank her.

The spread of her hips dipping into her waist. The round full of her breast. The soft curve of her stomach. An oil painting come to life.

"You're very comfortable in the nude." He teased, trying to jumble his thoughts back into his slack head.

"It takes practice." She smiled. "People usually don't want to see the wares stored away."

He could feel the confusion strike his face.

"What do you mean by that, darling?"

"Oh, I figured the others would have gossiped by now. Huh, good for them."

She flourished down her body. "This used to go to the highest bidder."

His hands slowed, pulling away.

"You were a sex worker?"

"What makes you think I'm not still one?" She winked, and he felt a hard shock of sudden recognition in her mannerisms. This was his playing field.

"Tav..." He paused, trying to wrestle his thoughts into a carefully picked set of kind words. She didn't need to know that part of his past yet. He could stand to pretend to be at least somewhat competent for a while longer.

"I get if that turns you off. We can go back to just feeding if you want."

"Well, what do you want?" He leaned his head, looking at her. Dead heart phantom hammering.

She seemed to consider it. "I think I like you, and I want to be near you. In whatever way that means to you."

He leaned forward, sliding on knees to reach her.

He laced his arm around her back, their lips hovered across one another. Her breath tickling his lips.

Sliding his hand down her front, he held her eyes.

A collective breath held between them, only broken as his fingers dipped into her heat.

Her eyes fluttered shut, hips tilting forward.

He pressed his forehead to hers as she rocked into him, rubbing her clit with his thumb.

She tried to reach for his trousers. He huffed out a soft no and led her hands to drape over his neck.

He looked at her with lidded eyes, pulsing his long fingers into her molten heat. Curving and catching the spongy wall.

She squirmed, gripping onto his thighs. One single breath passed between them. Speaking in panting and soft moans.

He pushed her onto her back, sliding down. His mouth coming down to lick in long stripes above his fingers.

She shuddered, head falling back. Gasping out little cries for him.

All of her sounds, her arching movements, wrapping around his mind in a haze.

He ground his erection into the bunched blankets on the tent floor.

His arousal a warm rhythm inside his body for once. The practiced working of his mouth finally put to a worthy effort.

He twisted his tongue into her, slurping and suckling. Free hand holding her in place as her hips tried to escape.

"Fuck," She hissed, gripping his hair. Legs starting to shake around his ears.

He moaned low and deep into her. His cock throbbing, hips fucking into the blankets.

"Oh fuck, Astarion. I'm-" But she was already rising off of the blankets, head wrenched back.

He followed her up, gripping her ass.

She squeaked out a few rising cries then fell apart in his hands. Tremoring rising up through her body, rippling outwards from where his mouth was still pulsing. Her head lolled, little jolts from her cunt as the creamy slick of her spend met his tongue. Lapping it in greedily.

He gasped. It rocketed against his skull like her blood. He needed more.

He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and dove back into her. Hungry. Messy. Uncontrolled. Completely cutting off his breath. He didn't need it anyway.

Her eyes shot open, moaning out.

"Oh Gods," She whimpered, bracing herself next to her head. Holding on as he took her apart.

He felt crazed, his hunger for her blood and the slick he pulled from her one and the same. The sounds coming from his lapping obscene.

Closing his eyes, he growled. Fingernails biting down into her ass. Saliva and slick dripping down his jaw.

One more hard swirling pull on her clit and she was shuddering hard, a strained moan of curses flowing from her lips. Eyes rolling back in her skull like marbles.

He yanked her towards him in anticipation, fingers rubbing hard into her clit encouragingly.

Her second wave of creamy slick met his tongue, so sweet and rich. Lighting his skull up in streaks of pleasure.

He pulled his weeping cock from his leathers and stroked with his slick soaked hand. Once, twice, and he was gone. Spurting thick ropes under his body, whimpering out pulsing cries as the pleasure wrenched out of him.

He lapped at her as long as she would allow, eventually gently pushing his head back.

"Gods below, Star. That was... that was heaven." She gasped.

He murmured in agreement, head falling into the inside of her thigh. Fingers trailing the silk of her side, the arch of her ribcage.

"Do you want me to stay?" She hushed, scratching lightly along his scalp.

He moaned softly, nodding into her.

"Come here to me." She purred, pulling him up her body. Resting his head against her chest.

The beat of her heart a steady tranquil drum. Her arms and legs tangled in his. He puddled into her, both of her hands scratching in slow lines along his skull.

For the first time in a long time, he fell into a heavy sleep.

The night passing dreamless.

~

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 3

Anger Management/Hardcover ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

As Jason was engrossed in the collection of Infinite Realms lore, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in." Jason said absentmindedly finding a stopping point and placing his finger in between the pages to mark his spot. Jeeves let himself in.

"Yes sir, it is dinnertime, I have been sent to escort you to the dining room." He said as he patiently floated.

"Right yeah, let me just find a bookmark-"

"Here you are sir." Jeeves held out a silver feather shaped bookmark from apparently the aether.

"Awesome, thanks." He placed the bookmark in his spot and set it on the side table next to the bed. "Okay, lead the way please."

Once more Jason was led throughout the dark, yet glowing, halls of the High Queen's castle. They passed many different entities, all of which were obviously not human and Jason hadn't seen this diversity of different fashions since he was last at a costume party. There were actual knights with swords and lances, some yeti's with arms full of scrolls, and eight foot tall women with bright blue skin and Amazonian armor, some with multiple arms. There was what appeared to be a wolf-man talking with the knights, in some language that seemed to have some roots in Latin, though other words he could hear were from other areas. Eventually, they arrived at a set of carved wooden doors.

"Here you are sir, the royal family awaits you inside." Jeeves said prepared to open the door.

"Wait, the whole family? I thought it was just Jazz?" Jason was suddenly nervous, he thought he'd have more time before meeting the family.

"It's quite alright sir, tonight it is only the High Queen Regent and High Prince Danny in attendance. I believe she thought the entire family would be a bit much, but the High Prince has a habit of showing up anyway. He is quite protective of his sister." With that bit of advice, Jeeves opened the door.

The room was ornate, though not as large as he was expecting, clearly this was the smaller dining room. Sat at the head of the table in a seat that in some countries would be considered a throne, was Jazz, she still had her helm-crown, but now she was just in the teal toga with clasps shaped like a sun at both shoulders. She still had her arm bracers on, which he expected, if she was trained by an Amazon, then those would likely stay on always.

Sat to her right was a young man, perhaps around 19 years old, with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes. He had been talking animatedly with Jazz when he heard the door open and his eyes snapped to Jason. He was in clothing far more similar to the yeti Frostbite, though in different colors and with a white peasant shirt on. Where Frostbite had gold, Danny had silver, where the yeti had blue, Danny had black.

"So, you're the sacrifice huh?" Danny looked unimpressed at Jason's entire existence. "How'd you manage to get sacrificed? You look like you'd be hard to take down for cultists."

Jason took a moment to process what was said and then made his way to the seat to the left of Jazz. He cleared his throat. "They got me while I was distracted helping a little girl get her stuffie that was stuck on her rusty fire escape. When she was walking away with her mom, I got clocked on the back of the head. Now I'm here." He splayed out his hands as if to say 'what can you do?'

"Hmmm, okay that's fair. At least I know you're not a cretin. What are your opinions on the undead?" He slouched back into his chair with his arms crossed, a critical eye on Jason.

"Danny! I thought I told you no twenty-questions! He hasn't even been here a day, and since I was dealing with paperwork all afternoon, I haven't been able to talk with him yet either." She scolded before she turned to Jason. "I am so sorry about him, I had one bad boyfriend years ago and now he thinks any guy that comes near me has unsavory intentions." She turned back to Danny. "Jason didn't choose to be here, remember? I'm sure the whole sacrificing to an unknown being in an unknown dimension has got to be somewhat traumatic and I don't want to make him relive that if we can help it."

Jason snorted. "Honestly, not even in my top ten most traumatic experiences. This one ranks so far a solid 3/10."

"Really?" Danny quirked an eyebrow. He stared longer at Jason and his eyes flashed that Lazarus green. "Ancients dude, what the hell happened to you?"

Jason sighed heavily. "I mean, Jazz already knows some of it, but," he swallowed heavily, "I died." He took a deep breath. "And then I came back. It hasn't been great since then." He said with a tone of finality, indicating he was done with this line of questioning. Danny's look of judgement turned more understanding.

"Okay, let's say we start dinner then? I'm sure you have some questions for us too." Jazz clapped her hands and skeletons came in with carts full of food. They placed plates in front of each of them and refilled the glasses of water before exiting the room. Upon the plate was a cut of salmon, some roasted asparagus and mashed potatoes. Okay, so they at least have a similar diet to humans. He dug in, and was reminded of Alfred's cooking.

Alfred...

"Would it be possible to get a message to my family somehow? To let them know that I'm alright?" He asked a little desperately.

The siblings traded glances. "It might take a while to pin down the correct dimension, but we should have a record of your time here in the archives, and that should have your dimensional code. You mentioned heroes, maybe we can pin down which one it might be if we can figure out which ones have those heroes?"

"There are heroes in your universe?" Danny perked up at the mention of heroes. Seems like the kid is intrigued by them.

"Yeah, there's a bunch, I don't even know all of them. The big three started an organization called the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman founded it to help protect the Earth."

"What's their deal? What are their powers? Do you know any of them?"

"Danny! What did I say about the twenty questions?"

Jason narrowed his eyes momentarily, thinking. Do I tell them? I did show up in armor with a domino on. "It's alright Jazz, I'm used to being interrogated by younger siblings. It comes with having the Batman as a father and all his birds and bats as siblings." He looked a little smug, bragging about his family where they would never hear him.

Both siblings looked blankly at him. Right.

He blew out a breath. "I forgot you don't know who that is." He took a bite and thought how to describe his family. "So, B is the world's greatest detective, and every one of his kids ended up becoming heroes in their own right. All of us are human, one of us has meta abilities, but we mostly rely on our minds, bodies and tech. Superman is from the planet Krypton, but it was destroyed just after he was born and his parents shipped him off to Earth. He's got a laundry list of powers, but the big ones are super strength, flight, enhanced senses and laser and x-ray vision. Wonder Woman is an Amazon Warrior Princess from Themyscira, she was molded from clay by her mother Hippolyta and trained as the strongest warrior of her people. She's got flight, super strength and the Golden Lasso of Truth." Jazz grasped her bracers when it was mentioned that Wonder Woman was an Amazon. Jason looks directly at her. "I noticed you have similar bracers and armor to her, as well as some of the people I've seen around the castle. Were you trained by an Amazon?"

Jazz looked up with wide eyes, not expecting the connection. She quickly recovered and took a bite of food before responding. "Yes, I was trained by Lady Pandora here in the Realms. When I completed my training, I received these." Jason nodded.

"Wait, Pandora? Like the Box Pandora?"

"Yeah, she's nice, but strict. She's the Ancient of Peace, and trained me in quite a lot before I took the throne. I found I quite enjoy sword fighting."

"Maybe we can spar sometime? Lord knows I get enough practice from the Demon Brat demanding fights all the time." Jason and Jazz shared a smile with each other.

"Demon Brat? Do you have a demon sibling?" Danny asked, startling Jason and Jazz and causing them both to blush lightly. He smirked at breaking up the moment.

"No, I just call him that. He's the only one of us that's biologically B's, but he was kinda raised in a murder cult. When he first came to us, he tried to murder every one of us to gain his 'rightful place as blood son'. Obviously it didn't work, but it was not for lack of trying. Replacement got the worst of it honestly, and the Brat seems to mellow out around Dickwing."

"How many siblings do you have?" Danny asked shocked.

"Uh, that's a good question. Are we talking legal adoption or emotional adoption?"

"What's the difference?"

"Oh probably at lease six people."

"I think your dad has a problem."

"Trust me, you aren't the first to say that and you definitely aren't the last." They all dug into their dinner and there was several minutes of quiet. "So, I guess the biggest thing about my universe would be finding one that has the League and meta-humans. Then find whichever one is missing me that should have me in it."

"Yeah, that's probably a good start, I'll get some of my aides to scour the archives. One team to locate the file about the time you spent here when you were, you know," Jazz hesitated, "Yeah, and then I'll have a team looking for the files on which universes have those heroes you mentioned. If there's any other details you can think of to help us narrow it down, that'd be great." She looked at him earnestly.

He smiled softly at her. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I guess another big one is probably that in that universe, I am known as the Red Hood."

"Oh, is that your hero name?" Danny asked.

"Uh, kinda kid. My methods are often frowned upon by the majority of the hero community, they also don't like that I use guns most of the time." He cleared his throat. "Some people consider me a hero, most just see me as a nuisance crime lord of Crime Alley. Which, I get, I do technically run drugs, but it's just to keep it outta the hands of kids and make sure it's all clean so nobody's dying from contaminated product. It's gonna get sold anyway, I might as well make it as safe as I can. I'm just trying to clean up my city as best I can." He carefully wasn't looking at either of them, they seemed like decent people, they probably would agree with the majority on this particular topic.

Jazz placed a hand over his. "I get it. There are some decisions I have had to make since taking rule that seemed counter-productive to my goal, but any little thing helps. You do what you need, those people are just gonna try and get it elsewhere that's not as safe if you don't provide the service, I'm sure some people are thankful for you." Jason looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. That is, his mind stuttered at how regal she held herself as she was comforting him, leader to leader.

Danny cleared his throat breaking the moment again. Jazz was wide-eyed for a moment before collecting herself and Jason blushed to the tips of his ears. Dinner was cleared by the same skeletons from earlier and dessert was placed before them. It appeared to be a chocolate fudge sundae with hand-churned vanilla ice cream.

"So you mentioned sparring, You gotta spar with me before you can spar with Jazz." Danny pointed at him with his spoon.

Jazz sighed, exasperated. "Danny."

"Nope! You have meetings all day tomorrow, I call first dibs."

"Danny!"

"Come on Jazz, I haven't been able to spar with anyone new in so long. Please please please?"

Jazz rolled her eyes and looked over to Jason. "If it's alright with you? He's right, I'm busy all day tomorrow so I wasn't going to be able to entertain you anyway, and it's probably better than being cooped up in the guest room all day."

Jason shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see why not? It'll be fun, I usually spar with an alternate version of Superman named Bizarro, so I'll go easy on you." Jason smirked, but was startled to find Danny already smirking at him with fanged teeth.

"Oh, you'll regret that." There was a bright flash of white light and suddenly floating there was a color-inverted version of Danny with bright Lazarus green eyes. He winked and flew out one of the windows near the ceiling.

There were a couple awkward moments before either of them spoke. "So, I didn't want to be insensitive at all, but uh, are you guys human? I know you said you were from Earth, but I've met all sorts of different types of beings too." Jazz sighed heavily.

"That's a complicated answer." She closed her eyes and folded her hands on the table. "Let's move to the library, we can discuss more details there." They rose and he followed her out the door and down the corridor.

[konigs-left-pec]

POV: me playing as König in pvp and getting repeatedly merc'd because I'm staring at his left wrist. The skin exposed between his bracer and his glove...

Omg I want to just lick and bite and suck. I'm like an old Victorian maid soaking her bloomers over an Adam's apple.

Anyhoo....I'm obsessed with clothed/partially clothed sex so here you go. 👑 Not proofread because I'm at work and the brain rot demanded satisfaction. I love you all. ❤️

18+ below the cut.

König is braced over you, gauntleted forearms on either side of your head as he ruts deeply into your soaked pussy, each brutal thrust accentuated by a soft grunt huffed out against your neck, his head bowed low like he can't spare the extra energy to hold it up.

He didn't even undress before he took you and it is delicious torture: his belt clinks with each inward press from where it's undone between your bodies, the once shockingly cold metal now slick with your shared sweat. The sharp points of your nails are digging into his flak vest, trying to ground yourself. He's an assault on all your senses - from the way the rough fabric of his combat pants is scratching against the backs of your thighs to the unrelenting, slick drive of him as you brokenly whimper into his mouth.

He sits up on his knees, roughly pulling your hips to meet his own, turning you into a mess of hiccuping moans, tears dancing at the edges of your vision as you clench down on him desperately on each slow drag out. Your head lolls to the side, nose bumping up against his wrist. The flesh left exposed between his bracer and glove is hot to the touch, the tendon jumping beneath the skin as he continues to drive his dick into your gushing quim like it's his job.

You latch on and suck hard and the moan that bursts from his parted lips is nothing short of painful euphoria. His hips stutter to a stop, "scheißen...so good for me, so wet..." He pauses to hoist your thighs higher around his waist and you sob helplessly at the friction as his too-big cock grinds and pulses against your sweet spot, "touch yourself for me, little one. I want you to come on my cock." 👑

[legends-of-apex]

Heaven is Here | Namor x Reader

Rating: M (implied smut, implied nudity, intimacy)

Word Count: 1,150

Summary: Just a short little slice of life fic in which Namor finally has the time to pay the reader, a surface dweller, a visit for the first time in months. Some fluff and implied smut. No spoilers for Wakanda Forever. Reader is gender neutral.

You could never tire of seeing him emerge from beneath the rolling waves. The ocean clung to him as an old friend, sticking his dark, water-laden hair to his scalp. He raised a hand, his golden bracers glinting off the sun at his back, and ran his fingers back through his hair. As his hair parted between his fingers, saltwater streamed down his neck to pool in the dips of his collarbones and make a riverbed of his torso.

The water lapped at his waist now, twinkling off his golden waistband as his spear sank into the sand with each firm step. When his chin tilted, eyes adjusting to the scorching light of the sun instead of the darkness of his home, you began walking toward him with barely contained restraint.

He strode with strong steps as he always did. He had the walk of a king, a man with the weight of an entire people on his broad shoulders. By some miracle, he was strong enough to bear that weight. As the sweet sound of you calling his name reached his ears and your blurred figure became clear he started walking more quickly, forcefully towards you. The water parted with each forceful stride of his thighs, sending sea spray along his warm skin.

He reached you just as the pads of your feet began to slap against the shallow water and he gathered you into his arms before you had a chance to say anything. He hooked your knees over his hips to anchor you to him, so he could bury his face in your shoulder and hold you against him as firmly as he dared. His green and golden spear lay abandoned in the shallow water, forgotten in his eagerness to hold you in his arms.

It was so long since you’d last seen him. He told you if not this waxing crescent then the next and you’d watched the moon more than you’d ever care to admit every day since he left.

“I have missed you, my love.” He spoke into your neck between feverous kisses.

“I’ve missed you too.” You replied with a shaky breath, his hair glided through your fingers at the back of his head, too slippy to grip from saltwater.

You wrung your arms around his neck for balance and clung to him like a vine upon an ageing tree. You pulled back from him for a moment to look him in his beautiful brown eyes but he barely let you for pressing his warm lips to yours. You felt the cold jade of his septum piercing against your cheek, its perfectly polished surface contrasting with the soft prickle of his facial hair upon your skin.

Oh, how you had missed the sweet sound of his voice and the slight taste of salt upon his lingering lips.

He carried you a few feet until he could shake the water from his wings and lay you back against the soft golden sands. As the waves kept rolling in, he knelt between your legs and kissed you again so passionately you could barely breathe. You were both so needy, so hungry for one another that the setting almost escaped you.

“Not here,” You whispered, as his lips trailed down your neck so cherishingly. “Once you start I won’t want you to stop.”

"As you wish." He replied with a smile as he lifted you back into his arms again and began walking in the direction of your quaint seaside home.

He’d have had you on that beach for the blue skies and the sun to see if you’d asked. He’d have pushed back the tide, let it swallow all but the altar of dry sands you lay upon and the grains that filled your grasping fists. You’d have laid there for hours uncaring even as the sun began to scorch your skin. It wouldn't have mattered so long as you were together.

When you reached home he made love to you as sweetly and as gently as he had the first time. He always did when he’d been away for so long. Despite his need for you, all he ever wanted to do was cherish you having not had the pleasure of feeling your flesh on his for so long. When his head wasn’t buried between your legs his forehead barely left your own, only to kiss your lips or your neck.

When you were finished, laying there basking in one another, he tugged you into his lap and enveloped you in his big arms. Those arms that wrenched sunken ships from their watery graves and tamed orcas now held you so delicately. These were the moments he craved the most when he was away from you. There was something otherworldly about the peace that washed over him as he heard your breath return to normal, your heartbeat evening out.

"I've really missed this with you." You told him as he trailed his lips along your bare shoulder, treasuring every inch of your skin.

"I can’t apologise enough for leaving you so long.” His voice grew quiet so he barely spoke. His mind weighed heavily with guilt.

“There’s no need to be. Your people need their king. I know that.” You settled back against him even more in an effort to console him, a hand on his upper arm, his broad chest at your cheek. He held your face and encouraged you to look up at him, to gaze at his watering eyes. You covered his hand with your own out of habit and he hummed a sound so deep it sent a shiver through you.

“And their king needs you, my love.” He brought your knuckles to his lips before pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, so you knew he meant it, “I’ll always come back to you.”

His warm hand moulded your hand to his chest, his heart beating slow and steady. You may not have been one of his people but he loved you and wanted to be there to protect you just as much. The tides would have to carry him home again soon, back to his duties and his people who he loved so much. He’d leave just before morning light and be back before anyone would even notice he was gone. But for now, he was happy just laying with you and holding you in his arms, free of the oceans weighing heavy on his shoulders.

[edens-pen]

"i find myself running home to your sweet nothings"

summary | it’s always a rough day for katsuki. hero rankings and PR nightmares every time he opens his mouth. but he gets to come home to you

pairing | bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

word count | 840

warning | soft!domestic katsuki, fluff.

a/n | this is very literally based off sweet nothings by taylor swift, so you can listen if you want the full experience. also, i haven't posted in two months, so i'm sorry if this sucks. <3

[ 18+ | minors, blank, ageless blogs dni ]

—

katsuki drops his bracers at the door with a heavy sigh. he's only just got his boots off and tucked in the corner, when he hears your voice calling him from the kitchen.

"'suki?"

he feels the smile pulling at his lips entirely unbidden.

the soft notes of that song that's been stuck in your head (and by extension, his) plays from the speaker in the corner.

"hey honey," you smile, leaning up to give him a kiss when he's in range.

he'll never be able to explain how that title makes his heart clench. he couldn't verbalize how every title he's obtained has not mattered until you gave him that one. pro-hero, number 2, explosive, dynamight.

your title feels so intimate on your lips, reducing him to the man who would fall at his knees for you.

not a pro-hero or number 2. not a ticking time bomb or a hot-head.

just your honey. your husband. yours, yours, yours.

"how was your day?" you ask, still stirring the pot as you turn the stove down.

"it was alright," he mumbles. in truth his day was rough, and he's not ready to talk about it, and he knows you can tell by the way you reach your free hand out to swipe your fingers along his cheek.

you smile up at him, pinching his cheek. "you wanna wash up? dinner's almost done." when he nods slowly, closing his eyes against the feelings of your fingers, you give him a little laugh.

in the bathroom, he works with the skin care products you left on his side of the counter, the dry winter air has been harsh on his quirk and his skin.

he thinks back to the agency, to the hero rankings, to the disapproving stares of civilians when he lets out loud curses and swears. the scolding he received from his manager today. the article comparing his pros and cons against the number 1 pro hero deku.

the water runs over his chest as he tilts his face into the stream, still trying to catch his breath from the incredibly long week he's had.

by the time he's toweled off and dressed in his sweats, the tension has worked it's way up into his back and across his shoulders.

"katsu?" your voice rings out and he's immediately following the sound back to the front door. he snorts when he sees you trying to push his bracers into the corner near his shoes. "how the hell do you put these things on for hours at a time? oh my god."

bakugo only laughs when he picks up both bracers with ease, your shocked gasp ringing out in the hallway.

"you're so strong, katsuki."

and that's it. your praise comes so easy. the fantastic feats that he performs still awe you. even something as simple as his above average strength elicits cheer from you.

it doesn't matter that he does it everyday, or that it's expected of him, you treat every act like it's the most incredible thing you've ever seen. and bakugo tries to fight the blush creeping up on his cheeks when you say these things.

even after all these years, he hasn't gotten used to your praise.

you're quickly setting a plate in front of him, taking the seat right next to him. recounting the events of your day, catching your boyfriend up on your workplace drama, and your recent purchases is enough to take you both through dinner.

by the time you've got him laid on the couch, your favorite candle is lit in the middle of the coffee table, and you two are talking softly.

his head rests on your chest, his ear pressed right over your heart. your fingers work softly against the ache in his shoulder, somehow finding the right spots to touch. these are nights when he needs you to take him down and you always do so with ease. he groans softly at the tender strength in your touch.

"i like the way you sound."

and there you go again. how do you split him open with a just a few words?

"its so pretty. especially when you talk, and when you laugh, i think that's my favorite sound."

you're calling him pretty. like his body isn't a fucking live wire ready to go off when he sweats. like the natural production of his glands don't cause explosions. like people aren't out there wondering if he should be a villain because of the force of his quirk.

of course the power thrumming through his veins is nothing compared to you. to the person he is when he's resting between your legs, letting you pet and coo at him until he's pliant and soft.

you bathe him in compliments, your adoration of him washes the shitty week off his skin and coats him in a thick layer of your love.

his prickly edges become rounded and soft against your gentle touch. refining him to be composed entirely of your sweet nothings.

—