#blue and tan isn't enough for me. besides

[partyof4game]

"Well, hello there, gorgeous. Tell me... do ya believe in love at first sight?"

Aslo Gergin [he/him, dom] - Aslo is introduced shortly after you arrive in the city of Sentari and finally register with the Dungeoneer Guild. Aslo is from the Eastern mountains, known for their paganistic ways and excellent alpaca wool. He's in town because he wants to make money to send home, but he keeps getting sidetracked by bars, ill-fated loves, and the fact that no one invites him to join their party whenever he finally does show up to a casting call. He usually gets the excuse of "we don't think you'll be a good fit." It has nothing to do with him showing up hungover, or drunk, or because he's 'loud' and 'takes up a lot of space'. Probably.

Aslo is gregarious to the extreme. He loves to be around people and is difficult to offend, and even if he does get offended, he forgets and forgives quickly and easily. Besides helping out his family back in his ancestral homeland, Aslo's goal in life is to find his soulmate, which some people think is incongruous to his large, rugged appearance. If he can't have that, then at the very least he wants to be surrounded by people who appreciate him for the big nut that he is. And if he can't even have that, then who knows what he's capable of...

Appearance - Standing at 6’6”/199cm, Aslo is one of the tallest people roaming around Sentari, although his stature is not all that uncommon where he's from. He has short black hair that he's continuously pushing out of his light blue eyes, and usually has stubble or short beard. He has an olive complexion that both tans and lightens quickly depending on how much outdoor exposure he's had recently. One of his most defining features is his nose, which is large and slightly hooked. He would say that his most impressive feature is his scar collection.

Combat - Aslo is a mage who focuses almost exclusively on buffs. He's a frontline fighter and uses a broadsword that's been enchanted and set with a large rainbow quartz to serve as his staff conduit. While his damage output isn't amazing, his ability to take a hit and keep swinging is phenomenal, if not a little neurotic.

Romance - Aslo is a chaser, but respects boundaries and will immediately stop pursuing mc if told no. He's a believer in love at first sight, the instant connection, and blurting out "I love you" after a day of knowing someone. He can take things at a moderate pace if he's given enough promise that all his partner needs is quality time to know him better first, but he gets anxious and jealous fast if he's not reassured often.

Romance Tropes - possible: insta-love, possible: jaded ex-lover, love at first sight, jealous lover, monogamous or nothing

**SPOILERY TECHNICAL SIDE OF ASLO'S CHARACTER**

To keep the Tumblr relatively spoiler free, you can check out the rest for free on my patreon!

Jem | Vana | Aslo

[church-of-crayak]

i am NOT the first to do this (this post from pfeffaroo comes to mind) and i will also not be the last but here is my personal take on the mane six if they were andalites!

i have a few personal headcanons about andalite tail blades and their many shapes and sizes, and i also love bending the rules of "blue and tan" when i can because I Enjoy Having a Bit of Fun. i think they would each manicure their blades into shapes that they like, and also, i love using the tail blade and hooves to cheat accent colors into my andalite designs anyway!!

ok more headcanons: i like to think that twilight starts as aristh twilight sparkle, put into that position by celestia (an old war-princess) after studying science all her life, and her promotion at the end of season three is to war-princess. i think pinkie and rarity are the only two of the group who use all four eyes to look at things, twilight and rainbow dash being trained not to as arisths and applejack being warned against it by her family. i think fluttershy looks around all the time because she's very anxious.

i think spike is a baby hork-bajir and the changelings are the yeerks. chrysalis would have the rank of visser one, and would be the only morphing andalite-controller. i can only imagine this makes the crystal ponies human? there aren't many named crystal ponies though.

anddd finally i think rainbow dash and applejack are the tailfighters of the group. pinkie and fluttershy file their blades blunt due to pinkie's love of moving around erratically (occupational hazard) and fluttershy's pacifism, rarity doesn't wish to get blood on herself, though her tail blade is very sharp, and twilight is just bad at it.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][fluff][slight crack][i know it's late but goddammit, i will fulfill my promise][friends to more][little bit suggestive][michael's pining][and jealous][relatively one of more shorter ones][basically a drabble?][i'll complete as smut if it's wanted][platonic prone]

"Are you still mad that I wasn't your Valentine?"

You plop down beside Michael, feeling the way you sink into the ridiculously plush sofa, your manicured toes burrowing into the fluffy, deep blue rug and you glance up at him, his attention literally anywhere other than on you.

"Michael, Valentine's Day was like, 2 days ago. And I had a date."

"A date you're not even gonna call back." Michael huffs, muscular arms folding across his chest, the fabric of his sleeveless T-shirt is snug against his shredded torso, clinging to each dip and curve of his carved body. And his eyes narrow at you.

But it's hard to be intimidated by someone who has the kind of blue eyes country songs are about.

"He was rude to the server and he wore sandals to a restaurant. You know I'm not being seen in public with that kind of animal." You mutter under your breath, grimacing at the mere memory and Michael hums.

"How much did he tip?" He questions, glancing at your from the corner of his eye, from beneath long, dark lashes and he doesn't wanna admit, but he's somewhat invested in the story.

Michael revels in your unlucky lovelife.

Each bad date brings you closer to, as he likes to say, Big Dick Mike.

"Well, we tipped like, seve—"

"No no, how much did he tip?"

You purse your lips, averting your gaze.

"He gave the waitress life coach advice." It's hard to push those words from between your lips, and the laugh Michael lets out just drives in how shitty your date actually was.

"Ew!" He cackles, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his full lips spreading into a shit-eating grin. "Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. That's— not only is he stupidly comfortable having his toes out, he's disrespectful to restaurant staff, he thinks he's a life coach AND he's broke?"

Michael lets out another huff of a laugh.

"You lost so much aura for feeling comfortable enough to tell me that." He snickers. "This isn't a safe space, sweetheart. It's the Golden Barracuda Shark Den."

Michael's arms stretch over the back of the couch, and he grins down at you.

"Population, one. Booster. Gold." He hums. "Or as I like to say, fat sack Carter."

You grimace at the nickname. It gives you an ick that isn't serious enough to stop you from hanging out with him, but it's serious enough to make you wanna pop him in the eye.

"Everytime you say shit like that, it makes sense as to why no woman wants you." You stare up at Michael, eyes narrowing in distaste when you feel the way his arm slides down from the backrest of the sofa, resting in the nape of your neck before he flexes, your face nestled in the crook of his elbow, pulling you closer and his bicep bulges against your pulse.

"You poor, sweet, naive, stupid, brain-dead, slow—" "Michael, get to the point."

"I've got women, dollface. Plenty."

"Michael," you place a hand on his chest, and Michael's expression softens at the gentleness of your touch, "the women who pop up when you're watching movies illegally don't count. Karen, is in fact, not 5 miles away from you."

Michael should've known better than to expect anything other than an insult from you, and it isn't even long before he has you choked in the crook of his forearm, his weight pressing down into the curve of your spine and his breath fanning against the side of your face.

It's hot, minty and you can smell the faintest hint of that citrus-y candy he had earlier, and you squirm under his weight. And it feels like you have an anchor on your spine.

"Get your fat ass off me, you big backed bitch!" You groan, thrashing but it's hard to move too much when your throat's clutched against a human Ken doll's toned, tanned and sculpted muscles, his bicep pressing against the side of your head.

"At least I don't ditch my friends to go on a date with some sandal wearing slob." Michael argues.

"I didn't even ditch you! I was texting you the whole time!" You hiss back, your cheeks flushing slowly with the exertion and Michael shifts, his hot breaths brushing against your ear and Michael's lips purse.

He can't deny that you left him feeling too neglected.

You had still responded to his plethora of text messages, responding to each of his memes individually, and giving him the same amount of attention you'd give him in person.

But that was the problem.

You weren't with him in person.

Your body mist didn't fill his nose, the sound of your laugh didn't ring in his ears until the early hours of the morning. He didn't get to watch the way first rays of sunlight dance across your features as you fell asleep in the middle of the nth movie.

He didn't get to feel the way you wedge your icy feet between his muscular thighs, giving him that mischievous smile as you continued to mooch off his warmth.

"It's not the same." Michael huffs, flexing his bicep even more and you push at him, your back arching and you press against him, ass flush against his hips and you both still.

Michael's breaths stutter, and he chews on his plump bottom lip as he tries to come up with a joke to alleviate the tension that's settling in the air with the density of pollen in springtime.

"Maybe don't arch like that." He murmurs softly before his arm relaxes and he opts to loosen his grip around your neck, but the feel of your nails digging into his forearm, keeping him in place. And Michael swallows.

"You nasty ass—"

"Michael." You say his name so sternly.

"No, 'm sorry. Promise. Don't take this away from me. I will actually throw up."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

@starski 🌃

[snugglebug-mj]

The eldest daughter who wasn't wanted

Sully family x oldest daughter reader

(I am rewriting this story)

y/n sully is the oldest daughter of the Sully's twin sister of Neteyam. Even though y/n was a na'vi she came out smaller than a normal Navi baby and her skin was a sky demon tan color. She was given away a week after birth. After 16 years the Sully's reunited with y/n but y/n has a new family and doesn't consider the Sully's her family besides Mo'at.

(art isn't mine unless I say it is. The names I picked out.

I've been wanting to do this story for a while and I finally got the push I needed for it, this is just one of my avatar stories)

y/n and clan / prologue

Y/n (16 years old)

The eldest daughter of the Sully's twin sister of Neteyam.

Belongs to the Dushnikh clan a terrifying, strong but caring clan.

The Dushnikh clan is a clan of the tallest, green orcish Navis

The clan is located in a swampy area.

(The clan and characters are my ocs but the name of the clan is from a Skyrim its a orc strong hold)

~prologue 16 years ago~

The battle had ended with hells gates a few months ago when neytiri had went into labor. After many hours of pain Neytiri had given birth to her children, a little  girl and a little boy named y/n and Neteyam, but y/n came out wrong, y/n was much smaller than a normal na'vi newborn she was human newborn size, her skin was a tannish color with light blue strips and she had five fingers, she did have na'vi ears, nose, kuru, and tail. Neytiri held the small new born looking up at Jake "Ma Jake.." she started Jake shock his head "don't worry my love" he replied at first they were happy to have both of the twins but soon some of the clan started talking "that baby is a demon!" "You need to get rid of it!" "Demon blood!" Neytiri and Jack did their best to ignore them.

~ a week later~

"My daughter don't do this! Please let her hear the great mother!" Mo'at begged as her daughter and son-in-law were about to give their daughter away.

"No mother. I am her mother I know what's best for her. We need to protect our family and clan" neytiri said as she gave her week old daughter to norm, while Neteyam cried from the wrapping of his mother's chest, Jake held kiri as he talked to Norm.

"She is family!" Mo'at hissed

Jack stepped between his mate and her mother

"Enough we made our choice" Jake hissed

Mo'at hissed back before grabbing the week old baby girl from norm "Fine I will take her somewhere where she can grow up in peace" Mo'at growled holding the baby closer to her chest

"Mother-" neytiri started but was cut off

"Enough! I am your mother and one of the elders! My choice over rules yours!" Mo'at hissed neytiri and Jack stepped back.

"I am her father give me my daughter" Jake said trying to grab y/n

Mo'at hissed again "No! I have spoken Jack Sully, the other elders agree with me, she deserves to live in peace"

"Mother where are you taking her? Let us come with you, I want to know that my daughter is safe" neytiri offers

Mo'at shock her head "No! Stay here, I will make sure she is safe" Mo'at said walking away with the baby.

~sometime later ~

Mo'at had sat in the hut with another larger elder sitting in front of her

"Mo'at my old friend, it's nice to see you but what's brought you to our home?" The elder in front Mo'at asked

"Leyra my old friend, as you know my daughter had her child a week ago. But my daughter has given up her daughter because she looks different." Mo'at said as she opened the baby carrier on her chest.

The elder na'vi gasped "These young ones always think they know what's best. Did you talk to her about her fate if she does this?" Leyra said as she looked at the small tan na'vi child staring back at her with an incorrect toothless smile.

Mo'at nodded as she looked down at the week old "yes but my daughter and her husband didn't listen.. they said they know what's best for their family."

Leyra and Mo'at turned when they heard the beads at the opening move to see another large female na'vi holding a small toddler

"My apologies mother and Mo'at" the female na'vi spoke with a bow Mo'at and Leyra smiled

"Zo'ile it has been to long, I see you have a small one" Mo'at said with a smile as the young na'vi walked over to her mother's friend.

Leyra smiled as her daughter sat beside her "Zo'ile I was about to call for you" Leyra said smiling at her daughter "Mo'at has brought her granddaughter to us, to be raised and cared for"

Zo'ile froze when her mother said those words before looking at Mo'at who held the small tan na'vi and her son At'ok standing by Mo'at smiling at the baby. Zo'ile reached out and Mo'at smiled before handing her the small baby.

"Her name is y/n" Mo'at said as she handed zo'ile the baby

Zo'ile smiled her heart had acked for the baby her son At'ok got into his mother's arms and stared at the baby as well "Tsmuke (sister)" At'ok said smiling zo'ile smiled before looking back at her mother and Mo'at "mother can she stay here I can raise her as my own, of course she'll know Mo'at as her grandmother as well. Please" zo'ile begged slightly.

Leyra and Mo'at smiled, Mo'at knew from then on her granddaughter would be loved and cared for from someone other than her. Leyra looked at her old friend

"Mo'at" she asked Mo'at smiled

"As long as you're ok with it my old friend" Mo'at replied

Leyra smiled "she'll be loved, cared for and excepted" Leyra said as they watched At'ok and y/n fell asleep in Zo'iles arms against her chest making her smile

(Something like this)

(Go look up artsofmetamoor! Love their avatar au)

Mo'at smiled sadly she didn't want to leave her first grandchild but her people really needed her and she knew y/n would have a better life here. "goodbye ma granddaughter I will come visit when I can, and thank you again leyra, zo'ile" Mo'at said getting up

leyra nodded and got up as well followed by zo'ile "of course my friend anything for you" she said hugging the smaller Forest na'vi.

Mo'at nodded and left the hut, zo'ile looked down at her children "mother why would neytiri give up her child?" Zo'ile asked Leyra shook her head

"Sometime na'vi forget the ways we were taught, they think they know best until eywa shows that you're wrong. Neytiri gave the child up because some sharp words spoken by her clan" Leyra said as she looked at her daughter, before walking away to grab crushed up herbs

"The day will come where we will have to tell her but until then, she will be raised the way of our people" leyra said gently rubbed the herd on the baby's head making her giggle in her sleep zo'ile smiled.

"Good night mother" zo'ile said as she walked out of the hut

"Good night ma daughter"

Zo'ile walked into her hut on to meet the chest of her mate Nawmrui.

"Ma Zo'ile are you and At'ok alright what took so long?" Nawmrui asked before his eyes widden at the sight of the smaller na'vi in his mate and childs arms.

"Ma Nawmrui, Mo'at had came by for a visit and she brought her granddaughter. Neytiri and her mate didn't want the baby, when I laid eyes on her I felt the great mother telling me to take her in as my own." Zo'ile said holding the baby's close

Nawmrui slowly got down on his knees to see the baby clearly, y/n had opened her sleepy eyes before giggle and reaching out for nawmrui gently placing her hand on his nose.

Nawmrui smiled "Oh great mother has blessed us with not one amazing child but now two. I am blessed" Nawmrui said as he got up and gently hugged his wife and his two children.

The next morning y/n had been introduced to the clan and they watched as y/ns kuru was connected to their spirit tree. The tree grew brighter and the clan was overjoyed to see the newest member of the Dushnikh clan

Nawmrui and zo'ile stared at their two children with nothing but love and care.

If the Sully's didn't want y/n the Dushnikh clan definitely did.

[x-lee-cya]

okay but what if jack was originally a spring spirit. what if he was a spring spirit but got turned into a winter one by manny, or mother nature, or fuck, even pitch - but for this one let's go with mother nature.

no one'd believe him. he'd've been around for, what, 50 years before she changed him, at most, bc i imagine that's how long it takes for immortal spirits to catch notice of any newbies, esp given how jack seems to be the only (major/[ ] who stays there] spirit in burgess. so. 51 or 53 years in, MN comes in, goes, "hey yeah you're a winter sprite now" and jack just goes "what the fu-??"

he assumes, for the next decade or so, that it's a joke. (whenever faced with evidence it's true, he stays in denial for another six.)

it can't be true, ignoring how his mud-brown hair has turned white (there's only one stripe of brown left, by the time the movie comes about. he dyes it the same shade of ice-white the rest of his hair has turned into over the last 300 years; the reminder is more painful then anything, at that point, and so it's better left forgotten, in his book) and his well-tanned skin into the pale complexion of the likes of which he's only ever seen on winter seasonals. ignoring how one of his eyes is now bright lakewater-blue instead of both of them being sun-shone gold-brown, how his freckles are white like little snowdrops embedded into his skin instead of like miniature sunflowers sprouting themselves again and again with every new spring.

and now imagine how hard it'd be for jack, to transition from Type A to Type fuckin' Z, even if slowly - but isn't that even more painful, in the end? he loses the ability to make his flowers, his vines, his grasses, his trees - he gets sluggish in early spring and is conked out every time by the 30th of the first month of the too-warm (much, much too warm, and when has anything ever been too warm for him?) season, no matter how much he tries to stay awake, to see just someone's flowers even if not his own. he fails. he always, always fails.

then '68 comes around. things go wrong, jack gets upset, he can't remember why, and he makes a storm - even after all this time he's still shite at controlling his winter magic: he gets a scar from bunny aswell as a flower - a snowdrop, ironically enough; his old namesake, 'fore he became jack frost instead of jack snowdrop - and bunny a scar and a few snowflakes from him when winter finally comes 'round again.

then 2012 comes around, and, well. there's no point TELLING the guardians that he used to be a spring sprite, not when they'd never believe him, bunny especially. he'd take it as an insult, probably. some kind of mockery, some slight against him and all his fellow spring seasonals (once jack's fellow spring seasonals, but not anymore, NEVER anymore) - after all, if no one else ever believed him when he tried to explain what'd happened, what MN had done to him, had changed him, they'd all just laughed.

(well, laughed and then hurt him, but that's besides the point).

but THEN bunny catches him trying - and failing - to make animated flowers using his frost; they melt as soon as their shape solidifies. mother nature'd changed him so much, jack thinks, a tad bitterly, that he can't even make anything vaguely spring-y with his own (new, strange, wrong) element.

"why can't'cha make those? ya made that frost-bunny for jamie jus' fine," asks bunny.

"yeah, well, why don't'cha ask miss mother nature that question and then get back to me in three-to-give business days," jack grumbles, not even making a paltry attempt to hide the bitterness, the borderline resentment in his voice for mother nature, for the one who changed him, the one who ruined him. resentment's a dangerous thing, jack knows, but he thinks he's allowed it, in this one case.

(he'd never resented the moon as much as he'd resented mother nature.)

bunnymund blinks, taken aback, ears flipping back to press against his furred neck. taps his foot against the ground, gently. he's still looking at jack, looking at his failing, melting, broken frostflowers, his one visible blue eye - jack'd always kept his other one hidden, 'least round him and all the other guardians. the one time bunny'd tried to ask, the frostbite'd gotten all defensive, and so bunnymund'd let it drop - dead and tired.

(jack didn't look back, even as he felt eyes on him, heard the sound of bunny's signature tunnel opening and then close, once again.)

and then bunny does just that.

[sunshinehaze1]

Sea of Love

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Summary: Javi surprises you for your birthday!

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. established relationship, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected PiV, creampie, no use of y/n

a/n: I wrote this for my dear friend @80ssong for her birthday, and she was cool with me sharing it with the world! Javi G is her fave, and there is not enough Javi G fic out there! So we’re going to change that one fic at a time. Happiest of birthdays to you!! I love you! 🥳❤️ huge thank you to the lovely @baronessvonglitter for the beta 🫶🏼 I also made a playlist to accompany the fic. Javi seems like the type who would woo you with Yacht Rock love songs. 🤭 I hope you enjoy it!

word count: 2,665

ao3 | ml

You're awoken gently by one of Javi's assistants, Sophia, encouraging you out of bed. "Up, up, señorita."

In your groggy state, you turn to the other side of the bed and notice that Javi isn't beside you. You return your gaze to Sophia with a furrowed brow. "Mr. Gutiérrez would like you to meet him at the dock."

"The dock?" You question, "What for?"

"He didn't say, señorita."

You had been anticipating a lazy day in bed in your lover's arms. It was the one thing you had asked for to celebrate turning a year older: one-on-one time with Javi, an opportunity to sleep in. You're unsure why the plan has changed.

You've been with Javi for over a year, having relocated to the island to be with him. It has been a whirlwind romance. You met him at a movie premiere after-party for a film he wrote. You worked in marketing for the studio that distributed it, his sophomore production, which followed the blockbuster success of the movie he co-wrote with Nicolas Cage. 

Long-distance worked for the first few months, but it soon became difficult. Balancing the time difference and long flights with your busy schedules was exhausting. Javi offered you a role in his family's business, leading PR and marketing, and you relocated to Mallorca, moving into his lavish home. It has been absolute bliss ever since.

You suspect Javi is up to something. He's a romantic, and he loves to surprise you. There's only one way to find out what he has planned this time, so you crawl out of bed, wash up, and slip on a flowy floral dress and sandals. Before you exit your shared bedroom, you grab your sunglasses from the dresser to shield your eyes from the bright Mallorcan sun. 

As you descend the outdoor stairs, you admire Javi's handsome appearance. He's wearing a fitted baby blue blazer, striped shirt, and tan pants. His brown curls are accented with a golden hue, and his sunglasses hide his soft brown eyes. He greets you with a broad smile, and his arms extend before him. "Hello, mi amor!"

He embraces you and pecks your cheek with a kiss. "Javi, what are you up to?"

"Mi amor, it is a surprise. Come, come, they are waiting for us." He gestures toward a 60-foot yacht docked in the harbor.

"Javi!" your mouth falls open, "When did you get this?" You're still not used to a lifestyle of such extravagance and luxury.

"It arrived last week. The build, it took some time," he shares enthusiastically. "But it arrived at the perfect time. Now we can sail on its maiden voyage to celebrate your birthday!"

You stare adoringly at him, unbelieving that this is your life now. Javi's zest for life and enjoyment of every moment were among the many reasons you fell head over heels for him.

As you approach the boat, you notice the script lettering on the stern—it's your name. Javi has named it after you. Tears form, threatening to fall from your eyes; the significance of such an act is not lost on you.

Javi sees a tear roll down your cheek, and his face falls with worry. He cups your face in his hands and thumbs the tear away. "Baby, are you alright?"

It's a struggle to find the words right away. So you nod and smile, your eyes glassy, until you finally squeak out, "You named it after me?"

"But of course. It is tradition to name your boat after someone meaningful in your life, for good luck." his eyes never waver from yours. "And you, mi amor, are the most important person in my life. I am the luckiest man in the world! I love you so much!" He kisses the tip of your nose and wipes another tear before it can fall.

"I love you too, Javi."

He grabs your hand and walks you toward the yacht, "Come, let's board. We will be at sea for three days."

You halt, "But Javi, I didn't pack anything!"

"Sophia has taken care of that for you. Do not worry."

--

In addition to the Captain and First Officer, the yacht is fully staffed with a chef and stewards available to cater to your every need. Javi excitedly shows you around the space to get acquainted with the amenities. The crew's quarters are tucked away from the main area, offering you and Javi privacy. There is a living area with ample seating and a wet bar, multiple bedrooms, and bathrooms. He shows you the primary bedroom, which includes a walk-in closet. You peek inside to see the clothes Sophia packed for you are hung and perfectly ironed.

You exit the closet to meet Javi standing near the edge of the bed, "This is so beautiful, Javi."

"I'm so happy you love it, mi amor." He softly kisses your lips. "The chef has prepared a late lunch for us." His hand grasps around yours, "Let's go eat!"

You follow him back into the main cabin. A mahogany dining table is appointed with crisp linens, delicate china, and wine glasses with a beautiful floral arrangement in the middle. Javi pulls a chair from the table and motions for you to sit. He quickly rounds the table to sit across from you.

The chef enters with his attendants, who trail behind him with their hands full of serving dishes. They carefully place the dishes while the chef introduces the meal, which includes paella with prawns, ceviche, oysters, small plates of olives, and assorted local cheeses. The staff then leaves you and Javi to enjoy your meal in peace.

Javi pours the wine, and you raise them for a toast. "Mi amor, you have made me the happiest man. I hope to celebrate a thousand more birthdays with you. I love you."

You clink your glasses together and take a first sip of a rich, full-bodied red. Your eyes are misty as you gaze adoringly at Javi. "You make me so happy, too. I love you."

--

With the impending sunset, you and Javi want to take advantage of the last bit of daylight together. You return to the room and change into your swimsuits. Sophia has packed your favorite bikini, one that accentuates your beautiful curves. It happens to be Javi's favorite, too. A black halter top that ties around your neck and pushes your tits together to create delectable cleavage and black and white striped bottoms that tie at the hips.

As you change, you catch Javi stealing glances at you in the mirror. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you give him a little show. Slowly peeling off your dress, one strap at a time, letting it fall to the floor. You shimmy your panties down your legs, exposing your bare ass and cunt to him as you bend over, feeling Javi's eyes bore into you.

When you straighten, you lock eyes with him over your shoulder and reach around to unclasp your bra. Your forearm holds the cups in place, not wanting to reveal yourself too soon. Javi's eyes darken with lust; he bites his bottom lip, watching with rapt attention. With a wink, you drop your arm, and your bra falls to the floor, revealing your tits to him.

"You are so gorgeous, mi amor." Javi breathes out.

Heat roils in your chest, trailing up your neck, feeling loved and adored by your man. "Thank you, handsome."

You change into your bikini while Javi puts on his swimsuit. He's wearing a pair of striped swim briefs, which perfectly highlight the outline of his beautiful cock. His tanned, broad shoulders are covered with a yellow button-up.

He leads you to the boat's bow, where an expansive chaise lounge is located. Javi removes his shirt before he sits; his golden skin glistens in the sunshine. His body is pressed against the back of the lounger, and his legs are spread out in front of him. He pats the area between his legs, inviting you to sit. His legs spread wider as you position yourself in front of him.

Once situated, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you lovingly. His hands begin to stroke the tops of your thighs while you admire the Mallorcan landscape of rocky cliffs and the sun's rays reflecting off the crystal blue water.

"Javi, it is just so beautiful out here."

He leans forward to kiss your temple, "Not nearly as beautiful as you."

His lips linger, moving lower to your cheek and down to your jawline, where he softly nibbles as you coo in response to the feel of his soft lips on the delicate skin. His lips journey to the sensitive skin of your neck, where he sucks at your pulse point. Your body writhes at his ministration, and a soft whimper falls from your lips. He knows exactly where and how to touch you; he's spent the last year exploring every inch of your body, discovering how it responds to his touch.

"Oh, I know how you like it when I kiss you here." Another kiss lands below your earlobe, "and here." The tip of his tongue slowly trails along the top of your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine. He chuckles, "And there."

Your body floods with warmth as your desire for him crescendos. Arousal pools into your bikini bottoms, "Javi, please."

"Please what, mi amor?"

"I need you to touch me, please."

Javi clicks his tongue, "As you wish."

His palm skates from your thigh to your soft stomach. His fingers trace over your silken skin until he reaches your hip, and he pulls at the end of your bikini's tie, slowly releasing its knot. You ache with anticipation as he slowly trails back across your stomach to release the tie on the other side. The front of your suit slides down, exposing your cunt to the salt air. An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, desperate for him to touch you where you need it most.

"You were such a tease changing into your swimsuit earlier. So naughty." he teases, "And now we're so impatient. Huh, baby?"

You nod your head. "Please," you whine.

Javi coos in your ear, "I got you." His lips tug at your earlobe.

You watch as his ring-adorned finger slowly navigates toward your lips. Grazing the tip of it along your outer folds until he moves toward your center to capture your arousal along your wet seam. "Oh, she's desperate, isn't she?"

Your brain is dizzy with his relentless teasing. Words fail you; your only response is to buck your hips into his fingers, resolute in your search for relief. You moan as one brushes against your sensitive clit. Finally.

Javi has dragged this out for the both of you too long, having worked himself up. His cock, rock hard, ruts up against the small of your back, seeking friction. His finger sinks into your wet folds, pulsing in and out of your cunt while he thumbs at your clit. You writhe in his arms, head falling back on his shoulder. He whispers into your ear, "So wet, baby. My fingers are just slipping right in. You're always so wet for me."

His other palm ascends your body, reaching the cups of your suit. He yanks the cups down, freeing your tits. Your hardened nipples piercing the air. He cups your tit in his soft hand, pulling the nipple between his fingers. Gently tweaking at it, which triggers your hips to lurch forward into his palm, his fingers deepening their reach inside your pussy until they hit that sweet spongy spot.

The sensations are intense, stimulating all of your senses at once: his gentle, coaxing touch, the cool breeze mixed with the mist of saltwater against your skin, and the thrill of this semi-public display of indecency, knowing that at any point, the boat staff could see this debauchery. Thankfully, they have all signed NDAs. "You're so close. I can feel you squeezing my fingers." he encourages, "Let go for me."

And you do. Your fingers dig into his forearm for purchase as you wail out his name. The sound muffled by waves crashing against the boat as it advances through the water. He works you through your orgasm, the stroke of his fingers slowing as you come down from your climax. As your breathing evens out, you collapse into him, your head resting on his shoulder.

He removes his fingers from you and brings them to his lips. He savors your sweet musk, sucking off your juices from his digits, "mmm, I will never get tired of how you taste."

You tilt your head to meet his lips and moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. You feel Javi's hard cock poking into your lower back, too distracted to notice it before. Twisting your arm behind you, you stroke your palm over the front of his suit, feeling the ridges of his length, and he lets out a strangled moan.

Desperate for your touch, he lowers the front of his suit to free his cock. Stroking it, he taps the tip of it against your back, and you feel a bead of precum against your skin. You move your hand over his and stroke in tandem. He collects the leaked precum from his tip to lubricate his strokes. He hisses when you tighten your grip over his. "Mi amor, I will come if you keep doing that."

"We can't have that, can we?"

You lift yourself to hover over his cock. He teases the tip through your slick folds, brushing your clit. You feel a burn in your quads as you lower yourself onto him until he's fully sheathed inside you. "You're just desperate for this cock, huh?"

You answer him by lifting yourself back up until only the tip breaches your entrance, and without warning, spear yourself onto him and begin to ride him in pursuit of another orgasm. Your tits bounce with your movement, and he reaches around to cup them in his hands, kneading them softly. One of his hands lowers to below your waist to your clit. A mixture of circles and taps on your sensitive bud edge you closer to your second release. Your pace quickens, and a wave of ecstasy rolls through you as your cunt pulsates around him.

Before you can come down from your high, he pushes you forward onto all fours in one swift motion. His cock never leaves your tight hole as he kneels behind you. He withdraws until only his tip remains in your warm, wet embrace before he slams back into you. "Fuck!" he grunts, "She's so tight."

Javi begins a steady pace, his hips slapping into your ass. His hands hold onto your hips with a bruising grip, pulling you into him to sync with his thrusts. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each stroke.

"Hnnngh." you moan, "Baby, you're so deep. Fill me up!"

His pace quickens, and his balls tighten as his release draws near. His pelvis pounds into you until, finally, his seed paints your walls. He wraps his arm tight around your waist and collapses into you, his forehead meeting your bare shoulder. He scatters light kisses along your back while his breath returns to normal.

Once he's come to, he draws you back into his lap. His cum dribbles out over his softening cock as he pulls out from you. He reaches over to grab a towel and cleans you both.

You relax into Javi, sated and content, as you watch the sun begin its descent behind the cliffs, painting the sky in orange and pink hues. You could care less that you're still in your fucked out state, half-naked and blissed out. All that matters is that you are in your love's strong arms.

Javi peppers soft kisses along your cheek, "Happy Birthday, mi amor."

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻

[fluentmoviequoter]

Best (Fake) Boyfriend

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: When you receive unwanted attention at a fancy restaurant, a handsome SWAT sergeant pretends to be your boyfriend to help you.

Warnings: pushy man is pushy and mean. Deacon is perfect and pretty. reader isn't rich (not necessarily poor, just usually unable to afford the vacation she's on). lots of fluff!! there's also a Psych reference and if you find it, we should be friends

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“It’ll be fun!” your best friend insists.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“It’s just a weekend. This is the hottest resort in LA and we’re never going to be able to afford it again. Besides, it’s an Uber ride away, if you hate it after the first night, just go home. We wouldn’t hold that against you, swear.”

Closing your eyes, you nod. The small group of friends surrounding you cheers. After they force you to pack a bag, you find yourself in the back of an Uber driving through Beverly Hills.

“How did you get a room here again?” you ask.

“I got an insane discount voucher when I went to the grand opening of that new organic restaurant in Santa Monica!”

“And we’re just spending a weekend in the resort? Swimming, relaxing,” you trail off, unsure if you believe the lack of ulterior motives.

“Yeah,” your best friend answers, “plus rich men from the Hills.”

The Uber driver rolls his eyes, and you can’t blame him... not at all.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Save a whole school full of evacuees and you get a dinner reservation at a Beverly Hills resort,” Street muses. “I knew there was a reason I liked this gig.”

“You do know that place will be crawling with rich, single women,” Hicks begins.

“Yeah, we do,” Tan and Street cheer together.

“And badge bunnies,” Hicks finishes.

Street shrugs, and Deacon and Hondo shake their heads. 

“Do we have to attend?” Deacon asks.

“Why? Got better plans?” Street asks.

“A night in the hills isn’t everyone’s idea of a fun time, playboy,” Hondo answers. Deacon nods his agreement.

“Yes, you have to go. Mayor’s going to be there tonight, too. Every week like clockwork,” Hicks answers.

“Hey, Deac,” Street calls as they walk out. “What’s the real problem?”

“Just seems like a materialistic, money-based approximation of the worth of the lives we saved,” Deacon answers. “The mayor’s office just implied all those lives are worth approximately $650.”

“Those meals are over $125 each?” Luca gapes. “Sorry, I know that’s not the point.”

“It’s not the first or last time we’ll receive a monetary thank you, but at some point it becomes more about the reward after the job than the job itself,” Deacon adds.

“Maybe we’ll be there for a reason,” Luca offers. “But I get what you’re saying. We are focused on the job, and that’s all we can control.”

“Then I guess we should clean up. Places like that frown upon dirt covered tactical uniforms."

"Their loss; this is my best look,” Street jokes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Um, I can’t afford to look at this menu,” you say, pushing it back onto the table. “Maybe I should go find a diner or something.”

“It’s included,” your best friend whispers. “But we’re trying to play the part, so sit up and feel as good as you look in that outfit.”

Sighing, you straighten your shoulders, picking up the outrageously priced menu again and trying not to let your shock show. Indeed, you’ll never live like this again, but you’re not sure you’d want to even if you could.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Would it be wrong for me to say there’s one for each of us?” Street asks, glancing over his menu.

“Yes,” Deacon, Hondo, and Luca reply in unison.

“They’re women, not suits, Street,” Deacon adds.

“Think I could land one?” Street asks.

“Playboy,” Hondo sighs. “You don’t have enough game for half of one��of those women, kid.”

“Really? ‘Cause the one in the blue’s lookin’ over here.”

“Probably at Deacon,” Luca says, keeping his eyes on the menu.

“Right,” Deacon agrees sarcastically. “I- honestly, I don't know what's in most of these foods, so one of you order for me.”

He sets his menu down, his gaze wandering to the table of women Street was talking about. One of them catches his attention, and when the four other women get up, giggling as they walk toward the bathroom, he decides he’s looking at a kindred soul.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Mind if I sit here for just a moment? My friends are running late, and the reservation is under another name,” a man explains, smiling as he looks at you.

“Uh, I don’t think-“

“Thanks,” he says, cutting you off as he sits beside you.

“My friends are coming right back,” you state. “So, you should find somewhere else to wait.”

“Sounds like you have time to kill, and I do, too. What’s your name?”

You don’t answer, fiddling with the bottom of the tablecloth as you watch the doorway for your friends to return.

“I can’t imagine someone ditching you.”

The man leans into your peripheral vision, and you turn your head away. When his hand brushes against your covered hip, you stand quickly.

“I told you that I didn’t want to talk, so you should find your way to your own table before I come back,” you say lowly before walking to the balcony entrance.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon tunes out his teammates as he watches a man sit beside you. Your obvious discomfort makes him eager to help. He stops at the thought that one uninvited man in your personal space is likely more than enough.

“Deac?” Hondo asks. “Oh,” he adds when he looks at what is so worthy of Deacon’s attention.

“Didn’t think he still had it in him,” Luca whispers to Hondo.

Deacon stands suddenly, his attention on your back as you walk onto the balcony. Hondo notices that the man beside you looks angry, and when he jostles the table in his haste to follow you, he knows why Deacon is so invested.

“Go help her out, Deac, we got your back,” Hondo says.

Deacon nods wordlessly, buttoning his blazer as he follows in your footsteps. His team looks on, sure that Deacon has control of the situation but is prepared to jump in if the situation calls for it.

“Deacon comes back with her glued to his side or that starry far-away look in his eye,” Luca announces. “Trust me.”

“My money’s on the first one. You see how she relaxed the moment her friends left? She’s just like him,” Tan points out.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Looks like you found your way to my table, too,” the man says behind you.

When you turn to face him, you step back. His jaw is tight, and his eyes look darker than they did inside.

“Change your mind about spending time with me, girlie?”

With your side to the door, you notice someone walk out, but don’t expect an arm to circle your waist a moment later.

“Hey, babe,” the man says. “What’s going on? Came back to the table and you were gone.”

Looking up at him, you sigh at the sight of his large, kind eyes. Trusting him, you relax against his side, raising a hand to press against his sternum.

“Sorry, handsome. This guy was waiting for his friends,” you explain.

“You need help finding your table or somethin’? This is a nice place, I’m sure they can help with that.”

The man clenches his fists at his side, looking between you and the man holding you to his side.

“Or do you need a different kind of help?”

The hand on your hip tightens, his touch still gentle as his voice drops. He’s defending you, angry for you, and though you don’t know why, you’re grateful.

“No, I’m good. Your ‘babe’ here might want to learn some manners, though.”

You press your hand against your guy’s chest when he tries to follow the man inside. Whispering your name to distract him, you sigh when his attention returns to you.

“I’m Deacon,” he replies. “Sorry for grabbing you.”

“Don’t apologize. Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking walking out here alone.”

Your hand is still spread over his chest, his arm around your waist, and his hand rubbing soft circles on your hip. You know the moment has to end, but your desperation to draw it out outweighs your logic.

“Well, thank you, Deacon. You’re a great boyfriend; I’m sure there’s a very happy woman somewhere.”

Deacon’s hand moves to your waist as you move back, and he quickly raises the other to stop you. 

“There is no happy woman,” he responds. “I just- how often do you have to deal with stuff like that?”

“Not very often. Most guys get the idea, even if it takes a few tries. Never had to be saved like this before.”

Deacon sighs, disappointed either in you or the situation. You hope it’s the situation, and Deacon can practically read your mind.

“I’m a SWAT sergeant, and we have to watch for crossfire,” he begins.

You nod with furrowed brows, confused as to where this is going.

“I just will never understand how some men are so okay with not caring how many women they hurt in pursuing their own… whatever it is they’re looking for.”

“How? How is there no lucky woman?” you ask softly. “Between the kindness and the poetic speeches, you’re just begging to get snatched up.”

Deacon drops his chin, shaking his head as he smiles.

“Why’d you follow me?” you ask.

“You were uncomfortable. I noticed you before he sat down, and then when you stood up so fast I couldn’t just sit there. Especially when he followed you.”

“Then you can tell I don’t fit in here.”

“I can,” Deacon agrees before whispering, “because I don’t either.”

“Could you maybe ditch your friends?” you ask. “Let me call you handsome for a while longer?”

“You seem a bit too pleased to have a fake boyfriend who only came out here to scare somebody off.”

“Because my fake boyfriend is better than any real one I’ve ever had.”

Deacon smiles, pulling you against him. “I have to stay for dinner, it’s a work thing. But if you’re still up for pet names later, and tomorrow, and for a good, long while, I think we can work something out.”

“I will be.”

“Have your phone?”

You pull your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to him. He keeps one hand on your side as he adds his contact, sending himself a text with your name. After he returns your phone, he sighs.

“The moment’s over?” you ask.

 “The moment is on hold,” Deacon corrects.

“Enjoy your work dinner. I’m going to go have a free dinner and listen to my friends pretend they belong here.”

“Feel free to sit at my table if you need a break. I’m sure they’re talking about you already. Trying to decide if I’ll actually act on my feelings or just come back in alone and puppy-like.”

You smile, slowly separating yourself from Deacon. Walking in first, he holds the door for you, and you brush your knuckles against his hand before returning to your table. As you sit, your eyes stray to Deacon and never leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

“That little hand thing counts, right?” Tan asks.

“Counts for what?” Deacon inquires as he sits.

“I thought you’d come back with your arm around her.”

“We’re, uh, we’re gonna keep talking later.”

“Atta boy, Deac!” Luca cheers.

“Why didn’t you invite her over?” Hondo asks. “This may be a work thing, but that doesn’t mean it has to be boring.”

“I did. If she gets tired of her friends, she’ll be over.”

“Yeah,” you interject, pausing at the corner of their table. “I’m tired of my friends and your table seems like a better fit.”

Street, Luca, and Tan rush to pull a chair over for you, arguing over who gets the credit. You laugh at their antics as Deacon tells you everyone’s names.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks for letting me crash your dinner,” you say.

“So, what do you think of our Deacon here?” Luca asks, smiling kindly.

“I think he’s great,” you answer honestly. Turning toward him, you whisper, “And handsome.”

“Are pet names our thing now?” he asks.

“Hey, you started it, babe.”

Deacon dips his chin before his eyes rise to yours, and you think ‘beautiful’ might be a better fit for him. Luckily, he promised plenty of time to try all the pet names you can think of.

[noodle-is-unstable]

Explore Me

All of my writing is completely Gender Neutral Reader. There is no reference to gendered body parts (Imaging a Ken Doll if you will). Due to this I use more vague language, and nothing is as specific or specified. Please be advised this writing style isn't for everyone and it is okay to skip.

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo x GN!Reader

Kink ~ Exhibitionism

Synopsis ~ Sometimes things just can't wait until you get home

Content Warning ~ 18+, Smut, public/changing room sex, Oral (Gojo receiving), Fingering (Reader receiving), penetration. Idk Adult Content.

1.8K Words, I don't proof read

The bustling streets of Tokyo always left you feeling claustrophobic.  It was like you couldn’t escape people no matter where you went, only a slight feeling of peace when you were dragged into different stores.  Even so, in the crowded streets there was always the guarantee you wouldn’t be touched.  A held hand granting you a small bit of infinity to keep people from bumping into you.  It was always a little hectic when Gojo brought you shopping.  Going from store to store, a snack stop in between every third store or so, shopping being teleported back home just so neither of you had to carry it home.  It was busy, but damn was it fun.  Gojo constantly giving you a fashion show, expecting the same from you.  No matter how much you tell him you have enough clothing, enough trinkets, enough things in general, he’s determined to spoil you.  Secretly you think he’s trying to get you too much stuff so he has an excuse to buy you a house to fit it all in.  There was always a guarantee you would be spoiled with more than just love when with Gojo.

“How do I look?” Gojo cat walked out of the dressing room, posing and spinning for you.  You took a sip of your brown sugar boba, examining every angle he offered to you.

“That’s such an unfair question.  You could walk out in a trash bag and still rock it.” You sigh, almost pout, because it was simply unfair how pretty he was.

“Okay, but this one or the one before?” Gojo continued to pose.  His current blue button down and tan pants reminded you a little too much of Nanami.  Thinking back to the previous outfit of a black hoodie, black shirt and jeans, you made your decision.

“Previous.  You’re not in casual wear enough.” You smile.  Though you adored his semi formal clothing, sometimes it was nice to not have to watch him spill sauce on an expensive shirt. 

“I’d say my birthday suit is pretty damn casual and you see me in that a lot, Baby Cakes.” Gojo smirked and winked at you.  Blush danced over your cheeks at the thought of him naked.  It was true though, when at home it was rare either of you had clothing on, it did make cooking a little dangerous.  Nervously you sipped more of your drink.

“I could give you different balls to suck on.” Gojo was suddenly leaning down beside you, words ghosting your ear.  You choked on the drink, coughing and trying to compose yourself before people took notice.

“We’re in public!” Harshly whispering you slapped Gojo’s arm.  

“And?” His ocean blue eyes were peering above his sunglasses at you, intense gaze never leaving you.  What were you meant to say?  What did he mean ‘and?’?  Your gaze went to your drink, trying to avoid his intense stare.

“You wanted to see me in something more casual right?” Hot breath with hotter words brushed your ear.  

“Toru, we’re in public.” Your voice came out meek, closer to a breath than actual words.

“That’s not what I asked.  So do you want to see me in something more casual?  Do you want to see me naked?” A devilish smirk fell on his glossy lips.  He was so close to you, his expensive cologne was taking over your senses, the seer intoxication that was Gojo made you feel lightheaded.  Of course you wanted to see him naked.  Of course you wanted to feel him and run your hands over him, but here?  People were constantly walking by, they were everywhere.  Could he really not wait until you got home in a few hours or even go home now?  Still the prospect of it all had you swallowing hard.  The logic of it all fading to the intense thrill of it.

“What if I could promise we wouldn’t get caught?” Gojo’s words pulled all your attention, eyes locking onto his.

“How could you promise that?” Squinting at him you waited for an answer.  That was all Gojo needed though.  A hand covered your mouth while his other arm wrapped around your waist to pull you flush to him.  Before you could blink you were in the changing room with him, trying not to scream as you attempted to wiggle from his grasp.

“Shh, or we will get caught.” Gojo snickered before removing his hand from your mouth.  

“Are you crazy?” You whispered, looking around in distress.  Someone was going to notice.  Someone was going to hear, to know.

“I told you shh.  Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.” Gojo chanted, a small curtain falling around you both.  It wasn’t big, just smaller than the changing room itself, just barely enough room to move.

“If it can keep people from seeing and hearing a full on curse fight I’m sure it can stop people from hearing us.” Gojo placed a kiss on your jaw.  Your heart was beating beyond fast.  

“Aren’t people going to need the changing room?” You whispered, a needy lump already formed in your throat.

“Guess we better hurry then.” Gojo purred, a voice like velvet.  A damn siren call you just couldn’t say no to him.  You dropped to your knees and started to undo his pants, his eyes going wide.

“Baby Cakes, what are you-”

“You offered me other balls to suck on.  I’m taking you up on the offer.” You whispered back, continuing to take his pants off.  Did you even need to whisper?  Hearing people and seeing the shadows walk by outside of the small curtain still made you cautious.  In one smooth motion you pulled Gojo’s pants and underwear down.  His cock jumped up, hitting his stomach as it stood fully erect.  Beautiful, pale, and already leaking precum.  Like Gojo said, you had to hurry so you wasted no time.  Grabbing his cock you licked from base to tip, wrapping your lips around his blushed tip.  You watched his eyes start to roll back already, lip tucked in his teeth to stop his whimpers from escaping.  He was always so sensitive, like a virgin but with better endurance.  One hand gently pumped the base while the other fondled his heavy balls.  A slobbering tongue flattened on the underside of his cock to let spit fall down and lube your hand while you gently sucked.  You always stared up at him through your lashes to gauge his reactions.  Little did you know that just the sight of you looking up at him, on your knees, had him fighting off an orgasm.  Moving, you began taking him further in, until he hit the back of your throat and your lips met your hand.  Bobbing your head and moving your hands faster you didn’t want to waste any time.  Sloppy gagging sounds began to fill the room.  Were you being too loud?  Could the people around you hear the sloppy head and muffled whimpers?  You knew people were walking by, but you couldn’t stop, you didn’t want to stop.  That's why you pouted when Gojo pushed your head off of him, a loud popping sound echoing.

“Not yet.  Can’t cum yet.” Gojo was already panting like he had run a marathon.  You were still looking up at him, drool running down your chin as he held your hand back,

“You said we needed to hurry.” Chuckling, your hands slowly picked up their movement again.  The action made Gojo let out an almost pained groan.

“We do, but I'm not leaving this room until you cum too.” Gojo smirked, pulling you off of your knees.  Your face and chest were pressed to the wall as he pressed against you.  Slipping his middle and ring finger into your already agape mouth you coated them in spit.

“Sorry Baby Cakes, we’re on a time limit.” Gojo kissed your cheek.  You knew he meant the prep would be rushed but truthfully the sheer excitement of what was happening already had you heated up.  Your only response was arching your back so Gojo had the access he so desperately craved.  He was quick to pull down your clothing, exposing your plush ass to him.  Removing his fingers from your mouth he was quick to slide both into your waiting entrance.  Your gasp was quickly swallowed by Gojo’s lips.  Hungry, needly, sloppy, his tongue wrestled with yours as more drool spilled from the corner of your mouth.  His fingers were just as relentless at his mouth.  Spreading, curling, thrusting, he was bullying that sweet spot deep inside of you.  Wet, whimpering sounds filled the room.  The smell of sex and desperation was evident.  Even if the people outside of the curtain couldn’t see or hear you they would absolutely know what happened in there from the sight and smell of you.  You didn’t care though.  Not right now.  Not when Gojos fingers were making your eyes roll back and his lips were pressed to yours.  That all too familiar knot formed in your throat.  Your eyes rolling back.  Your moans were harder to contain.  A sad whimper left your lips as Gojo pulled away, his lips and his fingers, robbing you of your climax.

“Sorry Baby Cakes, need to be greedy, need to feel you on my cock.” Gojo was rambling desperately.  It wasn’t even a moment later you were stuffed full.  His hand over your mouth, the only thing muffling your scream.  There was no warning, his cock had slid in fully until his hips were flushed to your ass.  The stretching sensation was almost enough to make you instantly cum.  You had no chance to adjust before Gojo’s hips were snapping into you.  One hand covering your mouth, the other around your waist to keep your back arched for him.

“Fuck, fuck fuck.  So good.  You feel so good.” Gojo began to ramble.  A surefire sign he was close.  You weren’t holding out much better though.  The only thing stopping your screams was his hand.  Close, close, close.  Your mind was going blank as his cock bullied and bruised your sweet spot.  Your muscles started tensing again, a knot forming in your core.  You couldn't hold out any longer.

“Cum for me, cum on my cock, please baby.  Please, please, please let me feel you.” Gojo’s desperate whines filled the room as your eyes rolled back.  Whimpers turned to grunts as he fought not to cum, not until you were done.  It was only when you began to relax he pulled out, hot cum shooting all over your ass and the floor.  If it wasn’t for Gojo holding you up, you would have collapsed onto the floor.

“Well, I think I’m going to have to buy this outfit now.” Gojo let out a breathy laugh.  Cum covered the clothing and you now.  Even if the people didn’t see or hear you, they would know what happened in this room.

About the Kink: Exhibitionism is the act of exposing or having sexual relations in a public or semi-public context for sexual arousal. The idea of being caught or seen is often the driving factor in this kink

How to Practice the Kink Safely:

With any kink it's important to have a safe word, action and sound. The action is in case it's not possible to be verbal. The sound is incase it's not possible to make words or move. Pick something easy to remember and wouldn't come up naturally. Eg. Red, 3 fast taps, 3 repeating grunts

It's very important to note the idea of consent. Those in public or around you cannot consent to seeing you, hearing you, or being apart of this kink. Though the idea of being caught can be alluring it's very important to participate in an area you won't get caught. Think an empty parking lot with shades on a car window. Deep in a forest or I walked trial. Or on private land. Never do this in heavily populated areas, especially areas where minors could be present. Just because you consent to being seen doesn't mean others consent to see you.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

I have given masktaglia angst

Masktaglia comfort to counter :D

It's been a while now. Weeks, months? Years? Long enough. Your lovely moth has adjusted to the new normal. His sight was affected - how could it not, with the way his eye was split - but he could still manage enough to interact with you, and when necessary protect you. He stays near you, avoiding fights whenever possible but not being afraid to take the initiative for you.

The mask had a hard, blackish purple substance start to appear on the cracked edges at some point. A healing process, you supposed, since on Foul Legacy it was a proper part of him. There would always be clear evidence of what had happened - it was purple, not red, and it wasn't as thick as what was once there, though maybe that would change with time - but it was recovering in some sense, and that was better than nothing. If it at least helped your moth feel better, that was more than enough.

One day, your moth seemed out of it, more than what had become somewhat standard, as if something was bothering him, and you did your best to try and figure out what, but it didn't seem like any of the usual things that you could figure out, and there wasn't much that you could really do to help without knowing, but suddenly he stops. He's shocked, clearly, and then the shock melts away into clear excitement, trills of happiness, relief even. It's confusing beyond belief, especially when he hugs you, until just as spontaneously as the excitement, your moth shifts - to a form you haven't seen in a long time.

He's different. His skin is a bit off - he hasn't been in the sun for a while, his tan is gone - maybe it was bloodless from his death - but the skin isn't rotten, at least as far as you can tell. The wounds you had seen before were still there, but they were closed now, with that same familiar purplish black covering where they were. It feels tough, a bit tougher than scar tissue should be, but it's still skin, *new* skin. His hair is all out of shape, messier, but longer, somehow, even if only slightly. The mask was over his face when he appeared, connected just enough, semi whole, and you couldn't see his expression underneath, but a hand moves it, ever so carefully, and blue eyes met with yours, with a shaky but loving smile.

Your Ajax, back in your arms.

He can't stay present for long - it's maybe ten or so minutes that he's there, before Foul Legacy is back, but somehow, some way, they healed together - or perhaps Foul Legacy healed Ajax - and your boys were one again, even if it took a while.

- John non saw you were down and tried for better things for you

*puts hand on your shoulder* you are forgiven for making me cry the first time

you immediately burst into tears, cradling Ajax's head in your hands and sobbing without hesitation as you almost squeeze the life out of him. almost. your arms loosen just before he chokes, still holding him close and refusing to let go. he shifts, a hand weakly trailing up and down your back as he murmurs. his voice- oh, his voice. it's so hoarse and quiet, ragged from his ordeal. for a split second, you wonder if it will ever recover, ever return to the loud, boisterous tone you know and love. but that's not important. he's here, he's back, he's ALIVE. you hug him closer, hiccupping quietly, and he attempts to soothe you to little avail. he still smiles, even through your cries, knowing that they're of relief rather than anguish, and he feels so familiar and solid beside you, mumbling against your hair and pressing feathery kisses over your cheeks and nose

the tears nearly start again when he shudders, exhaustion pulling at his eyes as his vision begins to darken. but Ajax promises to return, when he can. to hold you again in his arms with a parting mumble of "I love you"

Legacy's wings flutter as Ajax dozes off, exhausted but elated. his chirps are garbled and strained as usual, curling around you and tucking your body firmly against his. he's happy, so happy, the half that was missing firmly slotted back in place. he croons softly, tracing your features with the tips of his claws, memorizing the feel of them under his fingers. he can't see you as well, anymore, not with his eye. so he maps the hills and valleys of your face and expression, tracing them in starry ink. nuzzles against you and inhaling the sweet scent, something of mint and fresh water. he's here. he's not leaving again, not as long as he lives. all he and Ajax want is to stay with you, comfortable and warm and safe. Legacy settles a wing over you, the torn membrane slowly healing over the weeks

whenever Ajax's consciousness tugs at his own, Foul Legacy gladly steps back for a moment, knowing how much you adore both of them, together

[valdiis]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @paintedscales

I'm not entiiiirely sure, but I think I'm supposed to just post a snippet of a WIP I have going. Um. I don't have a whole heck of a lot I do that isn't collaborative RP writing, but I do have this silly urban romantasy novel I started a while ago.

-----

“Shitfuckdamn.” The curses all fell out of Jace’s mouth in a single conglomerate word. Just one of them wouldn’t really do; he needed to use all three. Because his car - the battered old Toyota Camry he’d bought for two grand six years ago - had probably just chugged its last quart of oil. Judging from the white steam emanating from the hood and the temperature gauge on H, he was pretty sure something had overheated. At least he was smart enough not to get out and pop the hood open, and scald himself or something. It wasn’t as if he even knew how to fix it if he did look.

Instead, Jace picked up his cell phone off the passenger seat and frowned at it. Was four percent enough battery charge to call a tow truck? He really should’ve remembered to plug his phone in back at the hotel last night.

Just as he was bringing up a search for local towing companies, the day went from bad to worse. The distinctive whoop-whoop of a police siren sounded behind him and blue lights flashed off his rear view mirror. Mindfully, he dropped his phone into his lap, tapped the button to lower the window, and slowly put both hands on the steering wheel.

The cop got out of her car and headed for his. As she reached the back end, her fingers came out to touch the trunk. Her other hand was loose, but not far from her gun. Jace swallowed hard. He didn’t have a damned thing to fear from the cops, but they always made him twitchy anyway. Anxiety whispered, What if you’re carrying drugs and don’t know it? He blew out a breath at his own ridiculous mind.

“Hey there,” came the Southern drawl as she leaned in at the window. “Can I see your license and registration, please?”

Jace blinked. That was awfully polite and non-demanding. He nodded. “My license is in my back pocket and my registration is in my glove box. Is it okay to reach for them?”

“Honey, you’re fine. Just be slow.”

Nodding, he took his right hand off his steering wheel and raised his hips out of the seat so he could fish his wallet out of his back pocket. His cell phone slid out of his lap and onto the floor. The cop’s gaze immediately followed, but she didn’t fuss at him over the noise. Jace flipped open his wallet and fished out his ID, handing it over as his butt hit the seat again.

“Registration,” he said before leaning slowly over to his glove box. The cop’s hand went to her hip. Breathe, he told his anxiety. He popped the glove box open and snagged the envelope he kept inside. There wasn’t much in it besides his registration, but he still pulled the paper out and handed that over too.

“Thank you. I’ll be just a minute.”

He nodded like a bobble head and watched her walk back to her car. There’s nothing to fear, he told himself. Your registration is valid, your plates are up to date, you clearly weren’t speeding, and you’re not carrying drugs. You’re fine.

His anxiety - for once - listened. Mostly.

Jace’s heart rate slowed and he put his hands back at ten and two. Three minutes later, the cop returned to the side of his car. “Here you go, Jace Valmont,” she said, handing back the ID and registration. “I take it you aren’t parked on the side of the highway for fun?”

That drew a nervous little laugh from him. “No, ma’am. I think it overheated.”

On his left, a sleek black sportscar switched to the far lane and passed them at a sedate, perfectly reasonable pace. The cop nodded at Jace. “Want me to call a tow?”

“Oh God,” he groaned as he nodded again. “That would be a life-saver. My phone battery’s almost dead.” Now that he knew he wasn’t in trouble, he took a breath and looked closer at the cop. She wore a tan shirt and the name plate above her badge said Officer Tate. It was night time and she wore a hat, so he had no idea what her hair color was. Nor did he look closely enough to pick out eye color.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” she drawled in that soft Southern accent before walking away back to her car. Jace’s shoulders eased. He wanted to bend down and grab his phone, but decided that would probably look suspicious. Hands at ten and two…

He wished his radio worked so he had something other than his anxious mind to listen to. That had gone out last year and he didn’t consider it vital enough to have fixed.

A solid ten minutes later, Officer Tate returned and leaned in his window again. “Tow truck’s on the way. Want me to wait with you?”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I shouldn’t need it.” He smiled and it didn’t even feel strained.

She nodded and patted the door of his car. “You be safe then, you hear?” Then she walked back to her car and got in. Moments later, the lights went off and she pulled back onto the highway.

Jace waited until her car was out of sight to bend down and pat around for his phone. Once he found it, he dropped it back on the passenger seat. He was putting his wallet away when the car rocked as a semi-truck blew past. “Hmph,” he muttered, “I hope she catches you.”

[sigyns-drafts]

Hi! May I ask for a Buddha with a fem reader who is very similar to Jataka? She is very sweet on the outside, but has a calm, stoic personality. She struggles with lack of desire and depression.

A/N: Hello! Of course you can, I hope you enjoy what I managed to write from your request!! ♡

You remind me so much of him 💙💛

Buddha & fem!reader

➩ Y/N was just resting under a bodhi tree, the weight of sadness hanging heavily upon her. Though luckily enough for her Buddha, someone she is very close with sees her and realized right away something was up.

He was prepared to comfort her, and only her until they soon found themselves both comforting each other. Sharing things they'd never spoken about and their bond growing ever so stronger!

➩ Reader type: platonic/romantic comfort with Buddha & Fem!reader

⚠: depression, discussion of loosing a loved one and then finding comfort in someone similar to said loved one.

In the tranquil gardens of the monastery, where the fragrance of blooming lotus flowers fell with the soft rustle of leaves, Buddha found Y/N sitting alone beneath the shade of a Bodhi tree.

Her tan skin glowed softly in the dappled sunlight, and her long locks of white hair flowed around her like a shimmering waterfall.

Approaching her with gentle steps, Buddha sensed the weight of melancholy that hung heavy upon Y/N's shoulders.

He knew the struggle all too well, the feeling of sadness that he had suppressed for quite sometime.

It was Y/N who in specific had reminded him too much of this one, certain person he could never get out of his mind.

His beloved older brother, Jakata, who had departed this world long ago.

Maybe that's why he was sticking around this woman for so long, Buddha sometimes would ask himself.

Or perhaps it was because of her sweet personality and calm, stoic demeanour.

"Y/N," Buddha said softly, his voice carrying a soothing warmth.

"I can tell when something is off. Tell me, what weighs upon your heart this evening?"

Y/N looked up, her dark blue eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and gratitude at Buddha's presence.

She wished nothing more than for Buddha to start worrying about her!

"Oh..it's this emptiness inside me," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But please, I wouldn't want to bother you by sharing my sorrows Buddha!"

Buddha chuckled to himself before taking a seat beside Y/N, gently taking her hand in his, offering her his full support.

"No, let me hear every last bit Y/N. I know how it can be sometimes and holding it in isn't the way, so please speak whenever~"

Nervous and hestinant at first Y/N wasn't sure how to exactly describe her delema and what she was feeling, until the words just started to pour out of her mouth like running water.

"I lack desire for anything, the motivation in doing my daily tasks are gone and the weight of this despair suffocates me.."

Buddha nodded understandingly, his own memories of despair and longing resurfacing. She must've been suffering from a deep depression for whatever reason.

"I, too, have felt this suffocating feeling, you know Y/N. You remind me of someone who was once very important to me."

Buddha began, his voice resonating with empathy. Y/N would look at Buddha, raising an eyebrow of concern. He had never opened up to anyone like this before, not to her own knowledge at least!

"Oh? Who is it, please I'm willing to listen in return for your kindness and understanding!"

"My older brother, his name was Jakata. He looked just like you..a spinning fair image."

"Jakata huh? We're we similar in personalities too, if I may ask."

Y/N said with a small smile widening on her lips as she tilting her head. Buddha only nodded in response, smiling back at her.

"He was, but you're even sweeter. Just remember this, dear Y/N, even in the depths of despair, there lies the seed of enlightenment."

As Buddha spoke, his words wove a tapestry of wisdom and compassion, helping Y/N in understanding and finding her eventual hope in getting back on her feet.

"I'll support you through your rough times like you've always done for me Y/N."

"D-Done for you..? What could I have possibly done to help you."

"My simply existing and coming into my life."

Moved by Buddha's words Y/N almost felt herself speechless, she wasn't aware of Buddha's own struggles. Let alone the fact she had been helping him with simply being herself around him.

Tears swelled up in her eyes dark blue eyes, almost as deep as the oceans itself, as she quickly took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Thank you Buddha, truly I.. I don't know what to say. Could you be this seed of enlightenment then?"

Buddha just looked away from her, grinning and suddenly pulling her close into a hug from the side. With each passing moment, Y/N felt the weight of her burdens begin to lift, replaced by a sense of clarity and peace.

Knowing that In Buddha's presence, not only could she find refuge from the storm raging within her, but help him as well.

[egyptiangamer]

I gotta start doing redesigns for characters beside Sumeru, and this isn't even the last of them 😅. I had to redesign Nahida because of several things: not enough green for a dendro archon💚🍃 and lack of the cultural reference.

Same thing that I did and that everyone has done for sumeru redesigns, I made her tan skin. To minimize the white, I made her hair black and brightened the green highlights. She looks like Tighnari with that hair color, but I like it 🥰

For her outfit, I did some concept art to figure out where to go. The first two is middle eastern where the third is Filipino. The first design won, and I wanted to get rid of the white and put more green, but then I realized two issues: 1) The colors were really dull and 2) there would be too much green 💚 so the white stayed in the end and I added other colors to contrast and balance.

The peacock🦚 details on her pants are from her dress in the original design, and the moon shaped earrings and gold piece on her headband are from the promotional trailer for sumeru when Nahida said she was "just the moon" 🌙. Her necklace and the marking on her forehead are from the concept art for her original design. The mark on her forehead reminded me of a bindi, that red dot Hindu women have for good fortune.

For the outfit, I based it on the outfits from Twisted wonderland in their firework event, which has Middle Eastern details. She's also to me one of the characters that should have gotten hennas, so I gave her some blue hennas (same color as Rukkhadevata's markings) on her hands. I also looked at Rukkhadevata for ideas like the same gold cuffs at the end of the sleeves.

Her necklace and the brown sash are also from concept art because I noticed she had brown in the older designs. Her vision is in that pink flower, which, fun fact, is the sacred lotus 🪷 from India and is one of the symbols of the Persian goddess, Anahita, of healing and wisdom which Nahida's name isninspired from.

I really need to do genshin impact redesigns from the other regions 😅😅

[thewardenofwinter]

OC Description Tag!

Was tagged by @writernopal here, thanks mate! ⚓

Rules: Share an excerpt from your WIP that describes one of your OCs.

Not technically a WIP but it's Circe's birthweek so im going to be spamming tall lady content lol

Here’s the first time Adam sees Circe in rather tense circumstances, to say the least. Still editing the opening chapters so a few details might get cut or added before finishing but oh well.

I launch myself forward, snatching the flintlock from the floor and slam back against the wall so hard I almost knock all the remaining breath from my lungs. The gun is cold in my hands, the familiar feeling of metal brining a grin to my bruised mouth. “Ha!” I holler out, adjusting the gun in both hands and aiming it right at him, placing my finger against the trigger. “Not so high and… mighty… now…” I swallow hard, my breath catching in my dry throat. My words fall flat as his hat falls from his head and onto the floor, the shadow no longer shrouding his features or…. what would have been his features.  “...Christ.”  The most terrifyingly gorgeous woman I have ever laid my eyes on kneels in front of me, her thick ebony braid grazing the floor as she heaves in either anger or pain. Probably both. Long, tan fingers slowly reach to touch her temple, blood dripping from the cut down her face. She pulls her hand away, eyeing the blood staining her fingers, rubbing it back and forth. A sneer sharp enough to slice through steel splits her face. Besides pure and utter fury, another emotion passes over her face as her fingers pass over one another. Curiosity, almost as if she hasn't seen the sight of her own blood in a very long time. She slowly tilts her towards me, a shadow passing over her angular face. My gun almost slips from my fingers instantly. Those eyes… I’ve never seen anything quite like them in the past two decades I’ve spent sailing across the world. It’s as if they shoot out rays of gold stolen from the sun itself, stained by the sunrise so much that even in the cool blue light of the room they glimmer like a freshly polished coin.

He immediately gets his ass kicked after this interaction btw. Technically this isn't her full description, that happens later after he wakes up after getting conked in the skull, but I love this one sm so I'm using it here!

Gently tagging @zestymimblo @mysticstarlightduck @rownanisntwriting @sugar-phoenix and @awleeofficial

Fair winds! — M. Warrin

[westerosoliviapope]

It's Handled (Scandal Westeros - Episode One)

“Breaking news out of the Capitol at Harrenhal. Tonight, The People’s Council begins deliberations on Prime Minister Robert Baratheon’s removal from office. The twice-elected PM is answering to charges of abuse of power and misappropriation of government funds, allegedly to silence two women with whom he fathered children outside of his marriage. The investigation, led by the Prime Minister’s brother, Attorney General Stannis Baratheon, has yielded a trove of documents and testimony, which will be examined and debated in the lower legislative body during a historic late-night session…” 

Brienne Tarth’s drink is too strong. 

You’d think she’d be better at this, having grown up with military men, but other than the occasional beer, she never developed a taste for alcohol. What she needs right now is a frosty Motte Wheat. Even the fancier restaurants in the Stormlands serve it, but here? At the Hightower Hotel in Oldtown? She doubts it. Besides, she looks ridiculous enough with her thick-as-a-castle-wall body squeezed in the sapphire shift dress she’s wearing. No need to remind her date how manly she looks by chugging beer. 

Speaking of her date… She checks her phone again. No text. No call. And he was due 10 minutes ago. Maybe she should text him… No. She doesn’t want to appear desperate. Fifteen more minutes. Then she’ll get the hell out of here and drown her sorrows at the Quill and Tankard. 

She tries to focus on the evening news but finds herself people-watching instead. Immediate mistake. The women, in their simple, elegant dresses and perfectly coiffed hair, are effortlessly chic. While the clothes are understated, there is easily $250,000 in watches, bags, and shoes in the restaurant. It’s like sitting in a room full of Margaery Tyrells. 

She takes another sip of vodka soda and winces at the sting. 

The thud of a blood-red Celine bag landing on her table pulls out of her thoughts. On the other side of it, a woman with olive skin and flowing dark hair settles on to the stool across from her. “I’m sorry,” Brienne says. “I’m saving that seat for…” 

“Garrett Flowerson,” the woman fishes an iPhone out of her bag and taps the screen, showing a photo of the man Brienne is expecting. “This broad-shouldered, square-jawed Prince Charming—that seems to be a thing for you—who swiped right on your profile. He's not coming.” She flips Balayaged-hair over the shoulder of her tan trench coat and waves down a server. 

Gods. He has a girlfriend who found his profile... For the first time in a while, she's grateful to be bigger and taller than most women she meets. This one, tall as she is, is willowy. Brienne can take her if it comes to that. “Look, I’m sorry if I…”

“A glass of Dornish Red for me,” the woman says to a server who has materialized out of nowhere. “She'll have a Motte Wheat with an orange garnish.” 

This woman knows what beer she drinks? What in seven hells? “His profile said ‘single,’” Brienne says. ��I didn’t know…” 

The bag is pushed aside and the woman finally looks at her, blinking big, black eyes and pursing wine red lips. “Oh,” she drawls. Brienne hears the hint of a Dornish accent. “Sweetling. Garrett Flowerson doesn’t exist. And this isn't a date.”

For Brienne, this is a bridge too far. 

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” she hops to her feet. “Or what kind of sick game you’re playing with me—” 

“Oh wow,” the Dornishwoman’s eyes grow wide. “Apologies. You're tall in photos but in person, it's truly marvelous. Anyway. Before you go all ‘girl fight’ on me, you'll want to have a seat. This isn't a date because it's a job interview.” 

Before Brienne can stutter that she’s not looking for a job, the woman continues. 

“Yes, you think you have a job toiling away in Renly Baratheon’s hometown office drafting your earnest, well-meaning policy proposals while praying his pretty new wife doesn't catch those longing glances you cast his way with those big baby blues of yours, but… that's not a job. It is a waste of brainpower for a woman who graduated fourth in her class from the Military Academy at Storm’s End. Not to mention pathetic, which is a bad look for a woman of your...” she pauses her dizzying monologue to give Brienne a once over, “...stature.”

“Who the hell are you?” Brienne asks as a server in a stiff-collared white shirt places a mug of Motte Wheat on the table in front of her. 

“Now you ask the right questions.” The Dornishwoman holds out a slender hand with black lacquered nails. “I'm Nymeria. And I'm here on behalf of Sarella Sand to make you an offer you can't refuse.” 

“Thee Sarella Sand?” Brienne asks once she can manage words and shake Nymeria’s hand. “Offer? I thought you said this was an interview?” 

Nymeria smirks over the rim of her wineglass. “I did say that, didn’t I?” It’s the slowest she’s spoken all night. 

Sarella Sand. Westeros’s top political consultant. Brienne’s followed her work since Sarella helped her father get elected to the Storm Lands seat on the High Council. She’d met Sarella at his swearing-in but... “I don’t understand. Why would she…” 

“I enjoy foreplay as much as the next girl, Brienne, but I'm not asking if you want the job because we both know you do. No matter what you say, you want more for yourself than busting your ass in the name of some Ken doll you diddle yourself to when you go home at night. So, Cinderella. You can keep scrubbing Renly’s floors hoping someone will make you the belle of the ball or you can let Fairy Godmother Sarella make you a warrior in a suit.” 

This is insane. A woman she’s never met, sitting in front of her, reading her biography and inner thoughts, dangling the opportunity of a lifetime. Common sense tells Brienne she needs more time. To do research. She should at least go to the restroom and search Nymeria on Beacon to see if she is who she says she is. 

But Brienne’s answer doesn’t come from the common sense part of her brain. Something higher, or perhaps deeper inside, speaks with such conviction that she’s shocked when the words come out of her mouth. “I want to be a warrior in a suit.” 

“Excellent.” Nymeria hops up and pulls out her phone. “There's an Uber outside waiting to take us back to the office.” 

“Now? But it’s 10 o’clock.”  

“Rule number one, Brienne: warriors don't sleep. Now, off we go.” She nods toward the door. “And stand up straight when you meet Sarella. Warriors don't slouch, either.” 

“Do me a favor,” Sarella Sand says, inspecting Jon’s appearance as the piss-scented elevator they’re riding descends. “Take your hair out of that ponytail.” 

She’s surprised his brow can furrow any deeper than its default, but he manages; his gray eyes narrow with suspicion as he frees his wild mane of black, neck-length curls. “Why?” 

“You need to look pretty for our Qohorik friends. Button up your coat, too.” 

“You’re serious? You want me to look ‘pretty’ for a bunch of Qohorik mobsters?” 

“If I wanted ‘scary,’ I would have called Obara,” she says, fluffing his hair. “No one will expect these luscious locks to take out a room full of people in the blink of an eye.” 

Per usual, Jon Snow eyes her warily but does as she asks, buttoning his black pea coat and flipping up the collar. “It took the Old Lion long enough to come up with the money. You’d think he didn’t want his son back.” 

“He’s not used to negotiating with people who threaten him. He’d rather drop a nuke on Qohor than pay a dollar.”

The elevator doors open into an underground garage. “You’re sure about this?” Jon asks before they step out. 

Adjusting the belt on her off-white coat, she takes a deep breath and stares straight ahead. “Of course,” she answers. “But keep your trigger finger ready in case I’m wrong.”

There is no sound but the echo of Sarella’s stilettos as they march through the empty garage toward three men in black leather jackets. 

“Good evening,” she chirps in perfect Qohorik. “I believe you have something that belongs to my client.” 

The tallest of the three mobsters steps forward and speaks in the Common Tongue. “And you have the $8 million we requested?” 

Jon tenses at her side. 

“We agreed to $5 million.” 

The mobster strokes his long, dark beard. “That was before we assessed your client’s considerable worth. If he shits gold, what is another $3 million? Say in… six hours? If this is challenging, we can start sending the package home in pieces. For incentive.” 

Sarella puts a hand on Jon’s arm. Easy, she says without saying it. Steeling herself, she steps forward.

“Here are your options, Mr. Hoat. You could walk away from this deal. But you, Mr. Urswyck, and Mr. Utt will be placed on every no-fly list from Westeros to the Summer Isles in the next two hours. Your Pentoshi bank account, number 9-0-2-4-7-8, where you keep that 32 million dollar emergency fund could just…” Sarella snaps her fingers, “… disappear. You could receive a call that the Black Forest Nursing Home in Qohor has mysteriously burned to the ground, leaving your lovely mother—Mrs. Elda Hoat, I believe—dead before her time. Or you can take this $5 million, catch your flight to the motherland within the hour and be sleeping under warm goat furs before the sun goes down.”

The mobsters grew increasingly uncomfortable as she spoke, especially when she called each of them by name. They’re used to operating as a single faceless unit—The Bloody Mummers. Not flesh and blood men with names and loved ones. 

An achingly slow moment crawls by. 

She senses Jon’s readiness. He’ll draw and drop all three men with clean shots to the head before they pull their weapons. All she’ll have to do is drop, tuck, and wait out the noise.

Thankfully, that isn’t necessary. 

Hoat nods and Urswyck pops the trunk of a black sedan parked behind them. A pair of long legs swing over the opening, struggling to find their purchase before landing on the concrete. “Walk,” Urswyck barks and the captive, abnormally gaunt with a potato sack covering his head, limps in Sarella and Jon’s direction. 

Her face remains impassive, but she exhales gently through her nose. Next to her, Jon’s shoulders relax and he tosses a duffle bag of cash that Utt retrieves. 

“Pleasure doing business, gentlemen,” Sarella says, nodding at the Bloody Mummers as they get in their vehicles. 

“That stuff about the nursing home,” Jon asks. “Was that real?” 

“The information, yes. The rest...” she replies. “… sounds like something Tywin would arrange.” 

He wipes a hand over his bearded chin and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Sarella.”

“One more favor.” She looks at Jaime Lannister’s covered head and bound hands. “Free our friend from his confines? I have to call our client.” 

“You’re pushing it.” 

“You’ll get all the Bear Island Private Reserve Scotch and porcelain-skinned women your heart desires,” she teases. “And I’ll throw in some steaks for that wolf you call a dog.” She reaches for her phone while Jon lifts the potato sack and pulls a ball gag out of Jaime’s mouth. “Sarella Sand for Tywin Lannister,” she says into her phone. “Yes, please tell Mr. Lannister that the situation is handled. He can retrieve his package from my office.”

“Uh,” Jon calls ominously. “You might want to take a look at this.”

A shaggy, tired-eyed Jaime Lannister raises his right arm. “By ‘this,’” he says, his aristocratic tone coated with a thick layer of gravel as he waves what looks like a bandage-covered stump, “he means my missing hand.”

She expects the offices of Sphinx Consultants to look like the rest of corporate Oldtown—sterile and nauseatingly contemporary. Instead, Brienne walks into a remodeled brownstone with dark-stained hardwood floors. She follows Nymeria through the foyer into a long hall that breaks into three rooms: a lounge with a kitchenette and brown leather couches, Sarella Sand’s office, and a conference room where Brienne hears the hum of news coverage under what sounds like a lively conversation. 

“Cool as a fuckin’ fan, she threatens the fucker with Reins of Castamere Part Two,” she hears in the thick accent of the North. 

Unsure of what to do, she stands in the doorway while Nymeria shrugs off her coat and hangs it in a nearby closet. 

“I come bearing fresh meat,” Nymeria announces, drawing the attention of the four people seated around a conference table littered with YiTish food cartons and chopsticks. Brienne recognizes one of them, Randyll Tarly’s son, from his brief time at the Military Academy before he transferred to the Citadel. 

“Everyone, meet Brienne Tarth, daughter of High Councilman Selwyn Tarth and the newest member of the team. Brienne, meet everyone,” Nymeria gestures toward the table. “Our curly-haired pretty boy with the hot accent is Jon, resident ex-cop and investigator. The lovable teddy bear with the round cheeks is Sam, researcher, and hacker extraordinaire. The lady in leather with the permanent scowl is my dear sister, former special-ops Obara. And of course, you know our fearless leader...” 

Sarella Sand, as poised as Brienne remembers from their brief introduction years ago, stands, a curious expression sweeping over her teak-toned face. “You’re slouching,” Sarella says. “You’re too tall to slouch.” 

Right, Brienne thinks, adjusting her posture. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. It means the world to me that I—“

Sarella turns toward the 60-inch monitor showing the Prime Minister’s removal hearing. “Did my sister give you her speech about being a Warrior in a Suit?” 

“That's why you sent me,” Nymeria sits at the table next to Jon. “I'm an excellent closer.” Motioning toward the TV, she asks “Have they started voting yet?” 

Sarella shakes her head. “They’re still doing floor speeches.” 

Sam looks up from his laptop. “Any chance he gets off?” 

“I’ve seen Robert work political miracles,” Sarella says. “But all the charm in the world won’t out of this one. Not with those women lining up at Varys' doorstep with stories for the Daily Whisper.”

“You think Renly votes against removal?” 

Obara reaches across the table for a carton of rice. “Not a chance. The Baratheon brothers don't give a shit about each other. It’s every Stag for himself.”

“Well,” Sarella says. “No better way to clean the dirt off of your name than marrying the Republic’s darling. Between Margaery and PM Olenna*, the Tyrells may as well be Targaryens.” 

Nymeria looks around the table. “Hey. Where's the Golden Boy? I thought we picked him up tonight.” 

“It’s...” Sarella pauses. “Complicated. He’s in the basement with Qyburn.”

At this, Nymeria sits up straight. “'Complicated' is an understatement if we called that creep. What the fuck happened? And does his father know?” 

Until now, Brienne’s been so overwhelmed by her surroundings that the conversation flew over her head. But as she thinks about what she’s hearing… Reins of Castamere, Golden Boy, his father… “It can’t be,” she whispers. 

She wants to run. To find a bathroom where she can take a deep breath, gather her thoughts, and mentally prepare for what she knows will come before the night ends. Then she hears Nymeria’s rant about her pathetic crush on Renly and wasting her potential. Was Jaime Lannister so different? 

No, Brienne thinks. One more smirking pretty boy, distracting her from what she can accomplish, who she can be if she keeps her eye on the prize. A prize she didn’t even know she craved until she stood in that room watching one of the most brilliant women in Westerosi politics discuss pillars of the republic as if they were pawns on a Cyvasse board.

“Brienne,” Sarella calls to her. “Can you go downstairs and check on our guest?”

“Yes—” she has to stop herself from saying “ma’am,” despite how much this feels like her first day at boot camp. The day she met the man she’s about to see for the first time in years. 

“Warrior in a suit,” she repeats to herself, walking toward the stairs that lead to the basement. “And he’s just another Ken doll.” 

Yeah, a voice in her mind spits back at her. The Ken doll you fucked that one time.

“In a historic turn of events that should shock no one in the Republic, the People’s Council has voted 126 to 74 in favor of removing Prime Minister Robert Baratheon from office; finding him guilty of abuse of power and misappropriation of government funds. While the measure was expected to pass, several councilmen from the Southern coalition, including representatives from Golden Tooth and Ashemark, who pledged ‘no’ votes, joined the ‘yes’ side after a harrowing speech on the floor from Councilman Robb Stark of Winterfell.”

“You’re here late,” Sarella says from her desk, where her shoeless feet are propped up while she scrolls through her phone. “I thought you had plans with that blonde from your gym? Val, right?” 

Plopping down on the couch in her office, Jon shrugs. “Change of plans.” 

“I know she’s no silver-haired princess, but…” 

He groans. “One time, I compliment a speech about ending slavery and you won't shut up about it. Maybe I’ll keep this popcorn and Dornish Red for myself.” 

“More than once,” Sarella approaches the couch with two wine glasses. “But if you’re going to have a crush, you can’t go wrong with Princess Daenerys.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jon changes the subject. “Your new girl is too innocent. You can see her heart bleeding in 'er eyes. Sure she’s cut out for it?” 

“We need a little heart around here. You all are getting too cynical. Though something seemed off between her and Lannister. Did you notice?” 

“I was too busy making sure his man Bronn didn’t steal anything on his way out.”

The two settle into silence as pundits across Westeros laud Robb Stark’s speech:

“Some of these lines were just incredible. This one, in particular: ‘Few people can attest more honestly to Prime Minister Baratheon’s greatness than I. My father served with him; named me in honor of his glorious feats. But we must let go of our attachment to the past to save the future of our great republic. That future cannot flourish in the face of lies, avarice, and corruption. My fellow Councilmen and women, that future can only be secured with Robert Baratheon’s removal from office.’ I mean, the hair on my arms is literally standing up. These are the kind of remarks that make political careers…”

“The fucker was made for TV.” Jon grabs a fistful of popcorn. “We just didn’t know it until you came along.” 

“I was a hired gun. Wyman saw the potential and the district agreed,” Sarella sips her wine, eyes never leaving the screen. “Jon. Why are you here buttering me up when you could hook up with a hot blonde?”

He pulls out his phone and taps the screen. A photo of him and an auburn-haired, blue-eyed man flashes across it. “Because someone needs to talk to you.” 

After three rings, a heavy Northern accent comes through the speakers. “Snow.”

“Stark,” Jon greets. “Hardly recognized your voice. I’m too used to seeing you on TV sounding like a proper southron cunt.” 

“Says the man who left us to live with the proper southron cunts.” 

“I’m sitting with a certain Dornishwoman who may take offense to that.” 

“Sarella?” 

“Yes, I’d like to speak with the rising star of the People’s Council. Can you put him on the line?” 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Jon points at Sarella. “Don’t open any texts from Val. Matter fact, don’t open any texts at all.” 

“Your cousin is afraid I’ll see one of his women’s nudes, Robb.” 

“Making up for those years as a virgin in Winterfell, I see.” 

Jon shakes his head. “I’ll be in the lounge.” 

Sarella turns off the speaker and presses Jon’s phone to her ear. “Hi.” 

After taking a deep breath, Robb replies. “Hi.” 

“Good job tonight.”

“Your line edits made all the difference. Thanks again.” 

“Theon’s turning into quite the speechwriter. Soon, you won’t need me.” 

“I’ll always need you.” 

She walks toward the window and sits, watching the stars twinkle over the dark waters of the Honeywine. “You wore the navy suit tonight. Smart.”

“It’s my lucky one. I’m sure you know why.” 

Sarella is silent. 

“Do you remember the first time I wore it? The debate at Wintertown?” 

“How could I forget? It was the first time I thought we could actually win.” 

“And after? When you peeled it off of me in the hotel room?” 

Closing her eyes, she exhales. “Robb.” 

“Gods,” his voice drops an octave. “You make me love the sound of my name.” 

She bites her lip and considers her reply. It would be so easy to... “We’re not doing this tonight, Councilman. Definitely not doing it on Jon’s phone.” 

She hears the smile in his voice before he speaks. “Where, Ms. Sand, would you like to do it?” 

Sarella peers at the street below, watching an Uber pick up a woman from the neighboring front stoop. “I hired Selwyn Tarth’s daughter today. She was slaving away writing policy on Renly’s staff and we told her she’s wasting potential pining after a man she can’t have.” She pauses. “When are you proposing to Roslin?” 

“Sarella…” 

“You’re running for governor of the North or Prime Minister after Randyll Tarly’s interim ends. You need a wife and asked Jon to call so you could break the news, so… When?” 

“Next week. I’m stumping for my Uncle Edmure in the Riverlands. It’ll be the day after his campaign event.” 

“I’m sure Catelyn is thrilled.” 

“Aye,” he snorts. “I’m starting to think she’s the one proposing. You know this thing is a mummer’s farce. We can still—” 

“We could,” Sarella says. “But we won’t.” 

“You weren’t some campaign fling, Sarella. It was more than—” 

“—I know.” She nods as if he can see her. “Listen, I need to give Jon his phone. But… thank you.”

“For?”

“Making sure I heard this from you and not the Daily Whisper.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen. We were... You deserve the dignity of hearing it from me.”

“The ever honorable Robb Stark,” she grins. “Goodnight, Councilman.”

“Call me back on your phone? It’s late. I… want to see you home safely.” 

“What if Roslin—” 

“I’ll handle it. Just call me back.”

Sarella doesn’t confirm or refuse before ending the call and staring out of the window. There’s a twitch in her nose and wetness pooling behind her eyelids when Jon’s phone buzzes in her hand. A text from “Val W.” with an eggplant emoji makes her laugh out loud. 

Saved by one of Jon’s hot blondes, she thinks, blinking back her tears. She's a Warrior in a Suit, after all. And Warriors in Suits don’t cry. 

[ashestoshadows]

Today I'm doing a list on shiny Pokemon! But this time they're on shinies that are either ridiculous or just make no sense in any matter of the word sense.

-------------

No 1. Garchomp/and it's catastrophic mega form

(Normal is far left while shiny normal is middle and mega shiny is right)

Whoever designed normal shiny Garchomp deserves a slap in the face and whoever designed this monstrosity of a mega Pokemon's color scheme deserves a real whack in the face. I love Garchomp to bits but why did they have to almost make it look so pale it puts me and my naturally pasty skin to shame? And or make it look like it's possibly unwell?

And to make matters worse and rub salt into the open wound it gets even worse with its mega, who designed these? I figured they'd want to make Garchomp's shiny memorable considering many struggled with Cynthia's, but it turns out they really couldn't care less about such a badass of a pokemon.

Pure disaster and I HATE IT

-----------

No 2. Glaceon

(shiny is right while normal is left)

I love all of the Eeveelutions, but Glaceon and Leafeon's shinies almost are indistinguishable from their normal counterparts if you don't know, or even if you do know you might miss them... Like Garchomp who is no 1 on here.

Why are the designers so bored with designing shiny pokemon?! Don't do the job if you don't put in enough effort for it to shine at least. (no pun intended)

Needs more shine

-----------------

No 3. Leafeon

(Normal is left while shiny is right)

Even in editing of this post I'm struggling to see a real difference on my laptop screen, it only looks like the Leafeon got a slight tan and that is really it. Besides the more verdant green going on which I get but the tan doesn't, even if it is a grass type.

Pure lazy and stop tanning

-----------------

No 4. Pikachu

(Normal is on the left while shiny is on the right)

Pikachu is, and has always been the mascot of Nintendo and Pokemon since it's debut and everyone would assume and expect they'd treat the cute but annoying mouse with respect? Nope.

Just give it the Leafeon treatment and give it a tan. Expect here Pikachu look's like he got covered in cheeto or twistie dust and now looks like a living, breathing, and electrifying cheeto who you cannot eat.

I will eat pikachu if i'm not careful and caught on a bad day

-------------------

No 5. Dragonite

(Normal is on the left while shiny is on the right)

Everyone knows Barney the dinosaur, and Dragonite from Pokemon. And Gamefreak and Nintendo decided to combine them when doing Dragonite's shiny. It almost look's like Barney expect replace the green body with purple and the purple on his wings with green and that'd literally be Barney down to a capital T.

Dragonite is cute and cuddly while Barney isn't. At least to me, and is more scary than anything and I can think of more cooler color schemes for him.

Someone beat up the shiny pokemon designers

--------------------

No 6. Lucario/his disgusting shiny mega form

(Normal is on the left while normal shiny is in the middle and mega is on the right)

I love Lucario- so much so I have a statue of it which is still sitting in its box due to the fact i don't have a place for it currently. But regardless; Did they really have to treat such a beloved pokemon such as Lucario with such disrespect? Am I really seeing these shinies right? Normal is a very unflattering yellow which makes my eyes hurt and his mega form gets more worse although is very close to shiny mega garchomp on awfulness and unflattering colors which hurt my eyes.

His middle part which is usually beige goes to... BLUE? WHY BLUE? and it get worse in his mega form. If his whole shiny was blue it would've looks fine but with the eye-watering yellow it looks... eugh.

------------------

No 7. Gengar (not the mega or gigantamax)

(Normal on the left while shiny is on the right)

Gengar is one of the many favourite ghost types of mine, it fluctuates how much I like it at times. The difference between a shiny gengar is the blue in its mouth???

Not sure if that is still the case as I don't have one, at least, as of writing this (25/06/23) But doesn't change the fact shiny Gengar normally is the living embodiment of disappointment. Like Garchomp from earlier.

Rest in peace the pokemon whose shinies make them either indistinguishable or sick.

--------------

No 8. Mamoswine

(Normal is on left while shiny's on right)

Mamoswine is a good pokemon, it's shiny though? No. I have one too if you wanted any reason to feel bad, or laugh at me, I caught it as a Piloswine with yellow hair (?) in PLA and decided to catch it as it's a shiny and anyone would kill for one. But this???? NO.

It's color scheme is a disgusting almost sewer green which is almost like Lucario's eye-watering yellow illness/plague that I really wish to never come into contact with.

-------------

No 8. Espeon

(Normal on left and shiny on right)

I love cats, there's no way I'm going to deny it as I have been brought up around them but... This one makes me want to try and spend as little time with it as possible due to the fact it is the color of toxicity and i don't want my character to get ill and die.

I still love Espeon, but... Why? Umbreon got the better end of the stick, but why did Espeon get the short end of it? Why are most of the eevee's considered poor color-wise on the scale of shininess??? Did they seriously give up on everything else besides Umbreon, Sylveon, Eevee, alongside Vaporeon who all stick out for the better reason then the rest?

Long story short I want it sent back to Chernobyl before I catch something

-------------

Image post limit is the reason this is not any longer, but yep. More to come of me shaming Nintendo and Gamefreak for their shitty color schemes

I was inspired to do this due to some youtube videos. But it's me on tumblr and my smart-ass

[rentryfuckery]

I just had such a good dream lowkey nightmare that it made me wish I could not only draw but make games. I'm gonna have to write it down. It was like a dating sim, think my brain mashed Our Life, Obey Me, and Date with Death. So much violence though 😰 was that really necessary like holy shit. (I do not encourage violence or self harm warning)

in one of the choices, if one wasn't quick enough, one got their skin cut off, but not in the way you're thinking, a slow, painful process that was in the typical cutting oneself way. In other versions of too slow, one had to stab the guy with the knife he had, another one got chased and had to use tweezers to stab his face, and his sister. In the shortest ending, one gets a quick death via the "tower guy" – who is a human? that thinks nonhumans should die, so if one states that one is nonhuman (one is a vampire), death! – because one got up onto the roof. One can avoid it by saying one is human, and saying one is just really good at climbing. One now knows that one has to be wary, and why the demons are so on edge around the outside of the house.

I'm so upset that I can't make anything of this. There were a lot of characters to keep track of. One lives with demons, they all embody a sin, except one.

Asmodai, I seen this one the most, they're a bigender demon of lust, they guide us, or torment us. Smooth, tan skin, slim? sneaky appearing orange eyes, blonde hair with brown roots, in need of a touch-up, blonde hair was wavy and down to their waist when feminine. Shoulder length, still wavy when masculine. They are not the love interest.

The love interest is what one would expect to be sloth, but isn't, he seems to be half demon or just very human-like for a demon. Dark, dull? blue hair, half up half down, black roots that are barely visible, somewhat difficult to see, soft looking, soft colored purple eyes, pale, and often seen with an electric guitar. He's tired, but not a demon of sloth. Besides his tiredness, his personality is shaped by the.. player? We'll go with that. Due to how I am 90% of the time, he was quite straight to the point, but gentle. When I hadn't acted that way, he was soft spoken, and often seemed confused, or zoned out. His name, I don't remember.

The only other demon I seen, gluttony, looks a lot like Beelzebub from obey me, tall, muscular, ginger, medium? skin, I'm not sure how to describe skin tones, sorry, darker than tan, brown eyes, same hair length and style as Beelzebub, when seen, he apologizes for eating the sticky note we left on him and the love interest's.. hallway to their rooms? I don't understand the layout. He seemed hung over, and cooks some eggs while one washes dishes.

The rest of the demons, hadn't been seen, but some names? Darrin, greed. Lux/Raijin??, wrath. Rose, pride. Unsure who envy was. We saw 7 different humans.

Oh, how I wish I had the skill, talent, and patience to turn this into something genuine. All I can do is some poor writing.