#changing the color of the stained glass in it

[theladysherlock]

My girl Jess can have a little villain arc. As a treat. 

(Honestly this was just an excuse to play with some new glass textures I got in Clip Studio, and I’m having a great time)

ID Below the Cut!

ID: Jess, a young blonde woman is hovering mid-air with the use of stained glass wings, both fists clenched. The wings are outstretched and made up of lime green, dark green, magenta, and purple feathers. The wings also have a soft glow around them matching the colors of the feathers nearest the outline. Jess has her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and is wearing a cropped white t-shirt underneath an unzipped dark gray biker jacket, as well as some gray pants and dark boots with buckles. She also has white bandages wrapped around her fists like a boxer. Her eyes glow the same lime green as her wings. The background is made of dark gray and black smudges, and there’s a hint of orange near the bottom of the piece to imply flames below her. 

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[nocturnal-stims]

🌿 Coloradoglassworks on IG

[nondescriptrock]

Guys I made a window

[marcmorrigan]

sorry about the blood in my mouth (i wish it was yours)

OCs, he/him for rauel and eiden thnx!

[ailinu]

why aren’t we into blue glass lampshades? like theoretically this is going to have to do with the light colors—a lot of lightbulbs tinge yellow rather than ‘true’ white—but we have different lightbulbs now. we can change this.

[felibrary]

wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.” 

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa. 

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts. 

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.) 

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin. 

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases. 

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it. 

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is. 

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be. 

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is. 

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself. 

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose. 

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. 

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again. 

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.  

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you. 

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

[skyscrapergods]

has being fucking Massive and Immortality changed the alicorns’ perspective on regular ponies? I imagine they’d get more condescending and distant and stuff

You are surrounded by flies. If you pause, and look closely, you realize the flies are iridescent, with deeply colorful eyes, and beautiful wings like stained glass. It cannot see the colorful windows of your world, but you can try to describe them. But know that doing so take up the creature's precious time. Years to them is mere hours to you. In a long conversation about the stars, you and the fly share ideas and perspectives. You come away delighted with a new view on constellations and what they mean to the common folk.

The fly comes away dazzled, haunted, and halfway to the grave. What was to you a wonderful conversation was years of study, communion, and dedication on the part of the small creature. He gave up any other pursuits, he constructed his life around this cause. He lost his friends, family, and home. You lost your lunch break.

You love this creature. You love the small being that you once were. You want to talk to him again. You want to tell him of the stars, of dreams... but to speak with him twice, at least meaningfully, would take from him the rest of his life. Could you demand that from him for the sake of your own curiosity? Years passed for him already. In the time it took you to draw a breath, his childhood ended. Do you summon him again? Or do you let him go to live his life, what's left of it?

It is painful for everyone. It hurts something in your chest, it breaks the heart of a god. It wounds his family to watch him leave them behind for the sake of what? A mere whim? He had ambitions! He had a story! It's all gone now. Rewritten for your musings.

You leave him. He cries for you but he needs not a goddess. He needs to live, to turn from the sky to his fellow bugs.

That's what he is. A fly. A mere insect to you. To hold him down is to pin him through his soft center, and display his corpse as a record of his extinction.

So look away. Forget the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice, and the intelligence that stirred you to pluck him out his world and keep him in yours. There, he would be a wildflower with a cut stem. He would be beautiful, but he is so small, and so quiet. He would be just a decoration on your table; made to dance and sing for your amusement and then tossed out with the rubbish when he breaks.

You miss him. You love him. But he is a crawling worm and you are the rain. There are many others like him, but you must be careful to only speak a few words to each. Or better yet, say nothing at all. Let them fade and mix into a writhing blur without name, stories, or opinions on stars.

You are surrounded by flies.

[toiletshit]

so much for that idea rip

[fanaticsnail]

A bit of both

Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,900+

Synopsis: You and Rosinante take your trust to a new level, engaging in two levels of weaving you had yet to use in sequence with one another.

Warnings: Rosinante x gn!reader, vibrator play (reader receiving), bondage (reader receiving), gagged (reader receiving), overstimulation, cock warming, dominant Rosinante x submissive reader, service Dom Rosinante, pet names (cara mia, mi amor, little thing), size difference, love confession, established relationship, praising (Rosinante giving), no gendered titles used, insertion sex (reader receiving), 18+, MDNI, smut.

Notes: This was not the fic I was working on, but the service-dom wanted to get out before the mean, jealous one. Ever since I wrote the "T" section for the NSFW Alphabet fic, I needed to see it explored a little more. I hope you enjoy.

Trailing behind you, gift bags lazily slinging from his shoulder with their cord drawstrings caught in his fingers and palm, Rosinante rolled his eyes as you debated with yourself which item you truly wanted from the bakery. Drawing his arm down, he let the bags hang from his wrist as he shoved his hand into his pocket.

“I mean, on the one hand, I do want an almond croissant. The filling is almost like fresh marzipan, and it's so sweet,” you tapped your chin with your fingertips before looking to the other glass display, “But on the other hand, I kind of want something savory like a cheese danish. I don't know about the salt content versus the sugar. If you were to choose one-?”

“-We’ll take an almond croissant and a cheese danish please,” Rosinante held up his hands to the baker, gently shaking his head at you before glancing at the corner of his eye at you. With an arched brow, he placed his Berry on the counter and waited for his change.

“What are you playing at, Rosinante?” you question him linking your arm through his bad leaning on his shoulder, “That's too much, look at the size of them!”

“Take a bite of both of them, and then choose the one you like more,” he gazed down his nose at you with his hazelnut colored eyes, scolding you with his expression. “I'll eat the other one.”

“Smart,” you nod with your pout down-turning. He shot you a sly wink, taking the change and watching the attendant fold the brown bag down at the opening. Pastries already staining the covering with the fat from overly saturated butter, you reached up and made to gather the bags; halting immediately as Rosinante shot you a warning look.

Placing his Berry in your back pocket, he reached up and took the two paper bags in his hands while you laced your hand in the crook of his elbow once more. Sheepishly looking at the ground, you felt him stoop down and press his lips to your temple.

“You know I won't let you lift a finger, mi amor,” the low growl in his deep baritone caused your eyes to flutter closed and spine ignited with pricks of fine needles. Opening your eyes to fall half-lidded, you smile bashfully at him. He pressed his lips atop the apple of your cheek, his soft smile felt in his sweet kiss.

Pastry bags left crumpled in the refrigerator, gift bags lying messily by the door, clothes were scattered and discarded in the hamper in the corner of the room. Shoes placed together in the hallway, the dim light of the room illuminated the skin of your tall lover.

Gazing possessively down at you, his lip paint lay smudged on his cheeks and chin, as your own skin was littered with intentional kisses ranging from your littlest toe to the crown of your head. You pleaded with your eyes, your lips swollen and bruised from being mounted and dominated with his own lips moments prior.

He molded your flesh beneath his hands to worship you, before drawing out a lengthy piece of rope with the intent to accentuate and immobilize your features.

“You've been so good today, mi amor,” he whispered, coiling and knotting the rope over your breasts, “Such a good little thing for me.” You whimpered for him as he parted your thighs and drew one knee up to your wrist, circling it with the fabric.

You open your mouth to speak, his eyes shooting you a look of warning for you to hold your tongue. Elevating your other knee to your wrist, he insured you were snug enough in your ties that you were not uncomfortable. Crawling between your exposed thighs and lowering his chest and stomach over your torso, he smiled down at you with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Before we start, do you want a sip of water or to finish your danish?” he offered, giving you a sweet and genuine smile, “I can get it out of the fridge for you.” You smiled back in response before shaking your head at him.

“No thank you, sir,” you chirped back at him. He learnt forward, brushing your nose with his own before drawing a woven gag up to your lips. You parted your lips, causing Rosinante to coo down at you in glee.

“So well mannered,” he praised you, “So good.” He pressed his lips over yours, the material preventing him from truly feeling your lips on his. “Now, remember what we talked about? Give me a demonstration of what you need to do if it gets too much?”

You bobbed your head up and down to nod in understanding before humming three notes up through your nose at him in a melody familiar to you both. Bondage was not a new concept to you, but with the addition of the gag it felt like you had no communication for if it got too intense. When you were tied, you would use your safe word when it got too much, just like your rapid taps against the mattress in code would halt motions when gagged.

“Perfect, cara mia,” he pursed his lips against your temple, “I'm gonna sit behind you now.” You nod eagerly, darting your eyes between his as he moves from your torso and kneel before you. His cock was achingly hard, his red top shining in the light from how desperate he was yearning for you.

The shibari had you feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, just the way Rosinante enjoyed you. Each time he tied you felt like you were a little gift wrapped up just for his delight, his complete control and your complete submission to him alighting a flame of trust between both of you.

Rising to his feet, he gingerly walks over to his knight stand and finds a leaf-shaped object and it's remote ignition. Eyes widening he moves his way behind you and presses his torso flush to your back before moving his forearms beneath your legs. Lifting you with ease, his tip lined up with your entrance which waited eagerly with prior lubrication.

Placing the tip over your quivering body, he eased you to softly impale yourself on his cock. Inch by inch, you took Rosinante's impressive length into you with your eyes wide and lips falling wide.

“You okay, mi amor? Not too much too quick, is it?” he hastily checked in, knowing the size difference may cause you some discomfort while you adjusted. You whined and shook your head, wriggling in his arms in a bid to take more of him within you. He chuckled, giving into your request and slinking you down on his steely cock. Hissing at the feeling, Rosinante let out a shuddering deep moan as he felt your body move to accommodate him.

“Oh, so good,” his deep voice praised you, his lips finding your shoulder blade and caressing your skin. “Okay, stay still. One more tie, and we'll be all done.” You knit your brows in focus, tensing your abdomen as his hands move around the both of you.

The small leaf was pressed against your sensitive nerves at the front of you, prompting you to unintentionally gasp at the sensation. The small bud encumbered your nerves endings completely, the anticipation eating at you as he chuckled lightly. Adjusting the ropes, he insured the object was flush with your skin before wrapping the ropes around both of your waists. Each touch his hands gave you left tingles on your skin, your body fluttering around him as you kept yourself as statuesque as you could.

“Now all you have to do is keep my cock warm for me while we watch a play on the carrier snail,” he whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your lobe, “All I want you to do is cum for me. So, so much, mi amor.” Your eyes widened as you felt his hands reach for the switch for the projector snail, and for the remote attached to the soft leaf.

“Just sit pretty like you're doing,” he clicked on the projector, the lights flickering over the wall and starting the dancing lights and music to follow, “And cum on my cock.” The leaf buzzed and shook to life, your back arching into his torso at the intensity of the motion. Rosinante chuckled against you, feeling your body contract around him almost immediately.

The rhythmic thump of your entrance adjusting and the coil tightening in your abdomen was enough to strike lightning in your vision. Immediately writhing on his lap, you bucked and ground yourself back into him as best you could against the bonds. Your body chased your high, leaving a mess on both yours and Rosinante’s body as you came hard against the leaf.

“Oh, good job,” he whispered against your cheek, adjusting the switch as he felt you fall back from your high to not overstimulate you with too much intensity too quickly. Giving your thigh a gentle tap as you panted behind the gag, Rosinante soothed your skin before reigniting the switch.

Keening and choking through your gasp, he continued to dart his attention between focussing on you and the moving picture in front of you. Each time he felt your body almost reach its high, he would gaze down at you lovingly while he watched your face contorting in pleasure. Letting go of all thoughts as euphoria washed over you, he would always end your climax with praise and a soft kiss.

“So good for me,” he purred at you, the deep rumble in his chest cutting over the whines and mewls you'd release in ecstasy. “That one was a big one, huh? Keep it up, mi amor.” His hands began to dutifully worship your thighs and devote all of his attention to you. Constantly engaging with your feet and wrists to ensure adequate blood flow, he had you unravel on his lap another eight times for the duration of the moving picture.

Each time he felt you cum, he did his best to keep himself edged and not spill over too soon. Your body wrapped around and exposed for him and him alone had him fighting with himself for a sense of control: just how he needed it. He needed you to be a channel for his lust, his greatest escape and refuge from the hardships of his mission. Something he could control, to focus on, and to have an immediate response to his intentional actions. He needed you to have the release and freedom that he couldn't, waves of empathetic bliss being felt as he felt your body become void of anything other than him.

He needed that complete control.

Eyes glazed with dewy water, cheeks stained with hot tears, body and nerves shot with oversensitivity, gag damp with your own saliva, you felt completely void of all thoughts other than to engage in Rosinante's commands as best as you could.

Keep his cock in your body while the play projects, and cum as much as you could.

As soon as the screenplay ended, Rosinante let out a soft moan as he tested his cock by rocking you on his lap. Your body felt limp and pliable, nodding in acknowledgement as you felt him begin to move. Each follicle of your body was engaged, mind numb and pleasure coursing through your veins. Thrusting up, you heard him whimper a soft whine of your name as he rocked you harder and faster on his lap.

Head lulled on his chest, you felt him flick the leaf back to life and reach a hand around in front of you to add more pressure to the stimulation. His fingers and palm gave you that final push you needed to begin to chase a fresh wave of desire as he huffed and panted behind you. Jolting your body up and down his girthy cock had his blunt tip reach depths within you that had you cry out for him. Sobbing and whining, you felt the coil begin to tighten and compact into a ball as he continued to pummel up into you.

“O-Oh, fuck. You've got one more for me, don't you? Just one more,” he kissed and bit at your neck, tongue and teeth dragging at your skin, “Be good a little bit longer and give me one more. I want it. Give it to me.” His gruff bark had you immediately whine at yourself to focus on chasing your release, your oversensitive body almost giving out while bound in the safety of your harness.

A scream found its way through the muffled gag as you came hard around him, body shaking and trembling as he moaned deeply for you.

“Oh, fuck. Good job, such a good listener. Fuck-... Nghh-... I'm c-cumming,” he shuddered, burying his forehead in the crook of your neck as he shot ropes of his release into you, “Yes, yes. Take it. Take. It.” He continued to usher you into a lengthier release as his balls sucked into his abdomen and shot a viscous expulsion of desire up into you.

Huffing and panting, he kept rocking you as he fucked his release back up into you. Your body was limp like a doll, a marionette dancing bound in strings for him as your master. His movements staggered, his soft calls of your name singing to you his sweet song of praise.

Finally feeling himself still, the aftershocks of his twitches spurting the final shudders of release into you, he finally switched off the leaf and tugged your body to lie flush with him. Showering your skin in soft kisses, he panted against you while his cock lingered within you.

Straining against the bands, you attempt to unravel yourself from the ropes by rotating your wrists in a bid for relief. Rosinante is immediately refocused, gently coaxing his cock from you and manuevering you over to the pillows beside him. His digits flew like lightning, hastily untying you and insuring your body had regained circulation by massaging and pressing his lips against your skin.

“Rosinante, I'm okay,” you reassure him, smiling through your glassy eyes up at him. He smiled down at you while continuing to focus his attention on the knots and weaves. Releasing the last length of rope from your body, he pressed his lips over each point of strain on your wrists, thighs, backs of your knees and sensitive abdomen.

Each time he releases a small part of the bonds, you feel his devotion in his delicate touch. Each kiss, each caress, each gentleness in his intimate touch: he was a devotee to your altar. His prayers were to see you thrive and come undone by his motions. His dedication each of new session to explore the trust in one another was unmatched, and you truly adored him.

And he loved you completely.

As you moved to stand, your body was overcome immediately by the intensity of pleasure your body endured. Your skin was hyper sensitive to touch, and your bones congealed under the pressure. Rosinante rapidly clicked his tongue at you, pouting his lips before smiling up at you.

“Oh, come now. We've been through this,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose with yours. You smiled through tight lips up at him, your vision hazy as you matched his doting twinkle in your dual vibrant afterglow.

“You know I won't let you raise a finger.”

Lips finally colliding, passion through overexertion lingered in the atmosphere. Parting lips, you gingerly hooked your arms over his shoulders and tugged him closer. He hummed against you, grinding his tongue against yours and stealing your breath from you. Lacing your fingers through his hair, he rotated his chin slowly to take on more of you through each languid motion.

Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes with his orbs pooling with emotion. Caressing your skin, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath huffing softly against your skin, “So, so much." To re-emphasize his intent, he repeated his phrase, "So much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper softly against his skin, moving your hands from his hair to his cheeks. “My heart. My sweet Corazon.” He smiled at you, taking a moment to linger in the world you forged together before humming softly at you.

“Yes, I'm all yours cara mia. Let me get you cleaned up.” The creases in the corners of his eyes were the most beautiful sight you'd seen, "You want bubbles or salts?" His gorgeous glimmer in his grin found purchase and roots in your heart with each beat.

“You think I can choose?” you giggle up at him. He hooked his arms behind your knees, your back supported by his other as he cradled you into him.

“It's alright, mi amor,” he chuckled at you, stumbling a little as he readjusted you in his arms. “You can have a bit of both and share it with me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[mncxbe]

Sfw 8 + NSFW 12 + 17 with Denji

My babygirl deserves some love <3

the way i ate this up😳 the brainrot is brainrotting. collegeAU with Denji cuz I like to believe he'd be as much of a loser then♡ gaah i love him so much. also y/n is rich rich👀 for extra silly and damn this turned out way longer than i anticipated.

8– accidentally walking in on them while they're changing

12– catching them stealing your panties

17– they worship your body

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: alcohol cunsumption (reader is tipsy), cunnilingus, Denji being a perv, implied virginity loss, subby Denji

For your 19th birthday you decided to host the greatest party of the year and everyone in your grade was invited.

The penthouse your parents allowed you to live in during college was nicely decorated– black and white balloons and drizzle, flashy lights and speakers that started blaring loud music as soon as the sun set. Everyone was having a blast, downing glasses of neon colored punch and cheap beer, dancing and chatting in groups. Well, everyone except you. You were painfully bored.

When you threw the party of the year you didn't expect everyone to forget the purpose of the whole fucking event– celebrating your birthday.

You've been sitting all by yourself on the couch for the past half hour, sipping on a plastic cup of cocktail. Your gaze mused on the livingroom of your apartment, trying to find someone interesting to talk to. The only people who approached you were some guys from Arts who tried to chat you up, but they rambled on about some uninteresting exhibitions and you soon got bored and shunned them.

As you got up to refill your glass, you noticed someone slipping inside your bedroom. The fuck.. you thought, pushing past drunk people on your way towards your room. You swung the door open and saw a blond guy about your age standing in front of your dresser. When he heard you barge in he immediately slammed the drawer shut, his head snapping in your direction.

It was Denji. Just Denji.

Though you briefly interacted with the Denji, you knew him from highschool. He was the guy who used to let other students use him as a chair during breaks for some spare change. You remembered working on some group projects with him back then but you seldom saw him around campus now. He mostly kept to himself, so you were surprised too see him at your party in the first place— not to mention you certainly didn't expect to catch him going through your lingerie drawer. Still, maybe this wasn't such a bad thing...

"Well, well what do we have here?" you chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed.

"Y/N hi" he said nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt "I was just um... looking for a place to change. Someone spilled some punch on my clothes"

You noticed the stain on his shirt and smiled, closing the door behind you. "And you thought you'd find a clean tshirt somewhere next to my panties?"

A blush crept on his face as he looked down at his shoes. "No, I mean I was just looking..." he fumbled "It's not like I was snooping around on purpose, i'm not that kind of guy" His voice was weak, half hearted as he looked around the room. At anything but you.

Swaying your hips, you closed the distance between you "So you're not some perv who's trying to steal my panties?" you asked and he shook his head. "N-no I'd never–"

"The show me your pockets"

Denji's face grew livid when he heard your command and you knew you had him. He was caught red handed and there wasn't much he could do about it. If he admitted maybe you'd at least allow him to stay at the party for a bit longer The boy couldn't bear to look you in the eyes as he reached a hand to the back pocket of his jeans and procured a pair of your lacy panties.

"Here, take them, but just know it's not what you think." It was cute that he still tried to find excuses for his actions and you blamed the alcohol for the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, you gazed up at him with droopy eyes.

All the while, Denji was getting more and more nervous. His palms were sweaty, heart hammering in his chest as he peered at you. God, you were so damn beautiful– Though he didn't admit it, Denji had a crush on you from the first moment he saw you. You were the pretties girl in school, which meant you were way out of his league. A goddess like you would never spare a moment of her time on someone like him, right? Well, his conviction was starting to crumble now that he saw the way you eyed him down with that taunting glint in your eyes.

"Ya know, Denji, I don't recall you giving me a gift or wishing me happy birthday. It's awfully rude of you." you slurred, tapping the floor with the tip of your heels.

His sorry excuses were half drowned by the blaring music in the other room. Your head was starting to get foggy from the alcohol, limbs growing heavier, as if an invisible weight was pulling you down against mattress. "Jee... quit the whining" you giggled, waving a dismissive hand in his direction "I'm not mad at you. However, I do think you need to make up for it."

"Y/N, I told you I'm in a tight spot with money this month, but I'll buy you something nice once I get my paycheck."

"I'm not talking about that" you deadpanned, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your gaze drifted down towards his belt and then back up to his face, taking in his frame. You couldn't deny he wasn't bad looking. Out of all the guys at the party, he seemed the best option for a casual hookup– not to mention he was already interested in you, so why not give it a try? With a motion of your finger, you beckoned him closer, pointing at the floor "Get on your knees."

Denji swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered the courage to step away from your dresser. With hesitant steps he covered the distance between the two of you and kneeled before you, his hands folded in his lap. His fists clenched and unclenched as he anxiously waited for your instructions.

To be frank, you never expected him to obey so you were quite taken aback by his attitude.

"You still let people order you around, Denji? How cute" you cooed, hooking your right leg over his shoulder and pulling him closer to the edge of the bed.

The blond tried his best not to peek under your skirt, his face turning red from embarrassment. He's never been so close to a girl before, let alone someone as beautiful as you and he was nervous. As if reading his mind you let out a low chuckle, hiking up your skirt.

"Come on, Denji, take off my panties. If you make me feel good I'll let you keep them."

By this point Denji was too far gone. Your silken voice put him under a spell and he eagerly pulled down your lingerie. A small moan slipped past his lips when he saw the string of arousal connecting your pussy to the silky fabric, his features melting into a pleading expression. He looked so needy, gazing at your bare cunt with those puppy eyes, his hands shaking lightly as he fully removed your panties and let them fall in his lap.

"There you go, Denji. Get a good look of it." you encouraged, running your fingers through his tangled hair to ease him into the new situation. You could tell it was his first time seeing a woman naked and didn't want to scare him off. So you took things slowly, waiting for him to get comfortable. Little did you know there was no need for that.

Denji was basically drooling over your pussy. He rested his head against your thigh, leaning into your touch as he spread your puffy folds with his thumb. His breath stuck in his throat when he noticed just how wet you were and it was all because of him. With shaky fingers, he collected the slick from your hole and spread it nicely along your clit, making you flinch.

"There?" he asked in a barely audible voice but you heard him nevertheless. "Y-yea, right there."

He slowly drew circles on your bud, making you writhe on the mattress and you spread your legs wider, shamelessly grinding on his hand. Sloppy movements over your clit had increased in intensity and you could feel the knot in your abdomen tighten with each swipe of his digits.

"Go on, baby, give it a taste" you said in a hushed voice and he immediately obliged. Hooking your other leg over his shoulder, Denji's hands gently massaged your thighs. He kissed his way up to your core, wet lips tracing the inside of your thighs, teeth nipping at your skin but not enough to leave marks.

He licked a stripe of your cunt from your hole to your clit, relishing the taste of your arousal. You were basically melting on his tongue and he was adamant to please you. As the grip on your thighs tightened, Denji collected some spit in his mouth and let the blob slide down your slit. He started eating you out slow, savouring the heat on his tongue but he soon increased the pace. It was clear that he had little idea of what he was doing– he was sloppy, messy, a mixture of slick and spit coating his chin as he lapped at your juices and you swore you got ten times wetter just by hearing him moan into your cunt.

His tongue flicked your clit so eagerly, lips wrapping around your bud, giving it an experimental suck. Your hips jolted up in pleasure but Denji quickly pulled you back on his face.

"Is it good?" he mumbled, pussy drunk eyes briefly meeting your as you nodded.

"Y-yea. You're so good Denji, gonna make me cum soon."

He mewled at your praise, his ministrations growing in intensity as heat pooled in your core. You were so close, choked moans spilling from your lips as your vision blurred. Denji made you feel so good you were starting to regret not paying more attention to him all those years back. He ate you out like it was his lifeline, hugging your thighs closer to his face to keep you from squirming too much. When you came you came hard, nails grazing his scalp as you pulled him closer to your cunt, grinding down on his face to ride out your high.

"Denji fuck—" you whined, arching your back off the mattress and he gently massaged the fat of your thighs and hips, his hands seeking your body you.

"I got you, just cum for me ok? Please feel good" he said softly, kissing your pussy and the inner side of your thighs before working his way up to your belly. He didn't dare go past the line of your dress, though all he wanted was to keep touching and kissing, to soak you up in all the love and affection he harbored for you during all these years.

When you looked down at him with those droopy, drunk-dazed eyes his heart sank, a soft smile etching onto his features.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a small voice as you pushed yourself up to sitting and held his face in your hands, leaning towards him. Denji's eyes rolled back into his skull as you kissed him, his lashes fluttering shut. You could taste yourself on his tongue along with the sweet punch he drank earlier that night. The kiss was heated and you pulled him on top of you, tugging at the wristband on his jeans.

"H-hey wait a minute I've never done this before" he tensed up but you shushed him with another needy kiss.

"Shit, I don't care if you're a virgin Denji I just need you so bad right now. Please" you huffed out and he felt his dick getting impossibly harder. He could almost cum in his pants at the sight of your pleading expression.

"Okay..." he whispered, hesitantly unbuckling his belt and you could tell he was nervous again. With sloppy movements he managed to allign himself to your entrance, shuffling around to make sure everything was alright, but just as he was about to push himself inside he perked up, patting your thigh. "Oh, Y/N I almost forgot."

"What?" you whined, grinding your needy pussy on his length. Why can't he just fuck you already?

The blond looked down at you with a lovesick smile, his eyes sparkling with adoration "I think I still haven't wished you happy birthday"

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Office Essentials Every Woman Should Own

A sturdy, sleek tote that fits your laptop but isn't too bulky (with at least one closable interior pocket)

Laptop, AirPods/earbuds, portable charging system for phone/laptop

Laptop stand (changes the game, tbh)

Protective laptop case/sleeve

A planner and a black pen/another color pen for marking up your notes

Another notebook/pad for random notes or a running to-do list

A pen cup holder

A ziplock of hair-ties

Disposable toothbrush, Listerine strips, and travel-sized container of floss picks

A discreet feminine hygiene pouch or two with at least 2 products in it (you can use the additional pouch for extra underwear to be safe, honestly)

A simple, easy to zip and clean makeup bag

Lip balm

Hand cream

Vaseline/Aquaphor/Homeoplasmine

Mini stick antiperspirant or deodorant wipes

Travel-sized tweezers

Lint roller

Hand sanitizers

Disposable Shout wipes/stain remover stick

Travel-sized container of antibacterial and baby wipes

Band-aids

A pair of nail scissors

A mini nail file

Small sunscreen that doesn't leave a white cast

Travel-sized hair brush

A pigmented lip color (or two)

Compact powder

Portable stick cream blush/brusher

Eyeliner/mini mascara

Eyebrow pencil

A snack pack or two of a protein-rich, plant-based snack (roasted edamame, roasted chickpeas, lupini beans, almonds, or Feel Protein bars are great options because they're portable and keep you full in a pinch without forcing you to reach for something unhealthy/not filling when you need to eat – you can also carry some freeze-dried fruit to pair alongside it if desired)

Pouch for keys, wallet, IDs, etc.

Blue-light glasses (for long days in front of a screen)

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Can I request reader x Lucifer, where she reassures him and tells him that she will always love and be there for him more than anything.

He deserves love, and Lilith deserves to go fuck herself.

I like to think that what's going on with Lilith is some kind of a misunderstanding or will otherwise be resolved, but our dear Lucy boy does indeed deserve comfort in the interim, so have this little ficlet!

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Hurt/Comfort

There were times when the King of Hell simply broke. The constant threats to his power, the atrocities committed by his subjects, the weight of all he'd done and his powerlessness to change anything for the better... it was too much, even for him. Once upon a time, he'd been able to share the weight of his crown, and to draw strength from the one he loved most on the days he couldn't think of a reason to get out of bed. Now, she was gone, and those dark days came for him all the more often in her absence. He'd survived, as he always had and always would, but his servants knew not to intrude when he sealed himself away to crumble behind closed doors. They'd learned no one could reach him when he fell into those dark thoughts.

You, unaware of these things, hadn't hesitated to seek him out when you didn't hear a word for over two days. His private wing of the castle had been unnaturally dim and dank when you'd arrived; the magical lights that usually kept it shimmering were mere flickers, and the golden walls seemed to sag, as if the structure itself was wilting under its own misery. A careful hand along the lifeless corridors had been needed to guide you through the darkness and to the King's private chambers.

When you'd opened the doors, you'd barely recognized the man on the bed at first glance. With his disheveled clothes, unkempt hair and lifeless red eyes, it had taken you a moment to recognize your beloved Lucifer, even with all six of his wings lying limp at his sides. You'd been across the room in a heartbeat once the pieces had connected.

Lucifer's surprise at your arrival had quickly turned to pleas for you to leave. He promised that he was fine, that he only needed to be alone, that you shouldn't bother yourself with such things, but of course you hadn't been convinced. The spread of shed feathers across the mattress and deep bags beneath his eyes told you he was in need of help, and you intended to provide it, however you could. Your steadfast refusal to leave finally brought the truth out of him.

"Alright, I'm not fine!" he confessed, sitting upright to face you. Seated on your heels, you gave him space instinctively, wanting him to continue so you might learn what was troubling the man you loved. Though your first guess would have been some unnatural, Hellish sickness, there was something about his movements that told you it was much deeper than that. Such a proud man would not let himself reach a state like this lightly. Grabbing a handful of his disheveled hair, he averted his eyes and took a shaky breath, wings crumpled around him in a ring of crimson feathers like a broken shield. Horns peaked from his forehead as he fought for his words.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry, but I just..." he trailed off as a wave of frustration passed through his features, expression pinching tight as he held his face in his hand. Though your heart ached at the sight, you held back still, knowing you needed the truth before you could do anything for him. A heavy sigh passed through his fingers before he raised his head to look out a nearby stained glass window. The mixed colors reflected deeply in his glassy eyes, and he let out a miserable laugh. "Sometimes, it's too much, you know? Hell, the Sinners, the endless misery, and old Lucy's got nobody to blame for any of it but himself."

"Lucy-"

"What am I even talking about? Nobody to blame? I've got nobody, period! I can't! Soon as someone gets attached, it all goes south! Either I've gotta push them away for their own good, or they end up leaving all on their own!" he continued, breaking into a bout of unhinged laughter. All six wings flexed without any kind of unison, sending a fresh shower of feathers over the both of you as he looked upwards and pointed an accusatory finger at the ceiling. "Top marks for the punishment, you Heavenly bastards! It's the gift that just won't stop giving!"

You'd have stopped him were you not shocked into silence by it all. There had always been hints of your beloved fallen angel's deeply buried suffering: smiles faltering without a word, sudden flashes of sadness in his eyes when he thought you couldn't see, the tightness with which he'd embrace you upon saying goodbye... There had just never been enough for you to act decisively, and he always brushed off even the most casual concern for his wellbeing. Now, with his sanity potentially hanging by a thread, you could almost feel the agony that was weighing him down.

"Gotta keep my daughter away for her own good, lost all my friends, lost my wife-!" he halted with an especially pained laugh, and clutched the fabric of his shirt as if wounded by the very word. Suddenly you understood his seclusion all too well. His beloved of the past ten millennia, the woman he'd crossed Heaven for, the mother of his child... Lilith had been his rock, and without her, how could he shoulder it all? The man before you was collapsing under a kind of pressure few could imagine.

Burying his face in his hands, he spoke next as if you weren't present, sinking into himself and the pit of misery he likely thought he deserved. "And sooner or later I'll lose you too! Can't I get a damned-!?"

"Lucifer!" you interrupted at last, grabbing his shoulders in tandem with the shout. He lifted his head in surprise, having never heard you raise your voice with him and likely quite unaccustomed to the sound to begin with. Emboldened by the success, you continued with all the confidence you could pack into every syllable, needing him to hear you and know you spoke the truth.

"You haven't lost me, and you won't!" you insisted, sure enough in yourself that you'd have challenged every Exorcist in Heaven to prove you meant it. Lucifer, still caught off guard by your initial yell, remained briefly unresponsive. Blinking suddenly, he shifted to an expression of apathy before taking hold of your wrists and gently pulling them off his shoulders.

"I want to believe that..." he replied softly, slightly more grounded now. Breath hitching, he slid his thumbs over the backs of your palms, taking a moment just to feel your presence before abruptly letting go. You could sense how hard he was resisting the urge to pull you in. "But there's so much that can happen. My position, my enemies... it's more than I can ask of anyone, and eventually... Well, everyone has a limit, and I can't blame them for leaving when they hit it."

In the short time you'd known him, you'd seen a great deal of the hardships he spoke of, and knew that many would indeed find the constant weight of his position too much to endure. Since being at his side inevitably meant shouldering some of that weight by proxy, you understood why many would find themselves unable to endure. It was indeed too much to ask of anyone...

Thankfully, you didn't need to be asked. You were offering.

"I don't have a limit. Not so long as I'm with you." you said more firmly, taking his hands back in your own. Once more, you looked into his eyes, and spoke with all the conviction your voice could possibly muster. "I don't care about Heaven, or the rest of Hell, or anything. If I'm with you, I can handle it."

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." Lucifer replied quickly, almost mechanical in his dismissal. Though he was still deep in his thoughts and deeper still in his grief, you didn't fail to notice how he let his hands remain in your grip. Despite it all, he wanted you, but just wasn't yet strong enough to face the pain of wanting. You didn't mind. He needed time to heal, and you'd shoulder as much of the load as possible for as long as it took for him to do so.

"Well, good luck trying to stop me." you said, ever more defiant. A small but far more genuine chuckle passed his lips, and you pulled him closer, encouraging the exhausts angel to lean on you for an embrace. When his head met your chest, you held him tightly, fingers brushing through his hair just the way he liked it. As his exhausted body eased against your own, you knew you spoke only the truth. "I love you, and I'm going to keep loving you. Nothing is ever going to change that."

He laughed again, sounding like he still believed his luck wouldn't change, but was daring to hope regardless.

"I love you too."

As you held him on the bed in silence, you vowed to every being from the highest peaks of Heaven to the lowest depths of Hell that he wouldn't regret this.

[salemoleander]

lost in the dark (Hunger AU) webweave

Created as a tribute to the absolutely incredible fic @definitelynotshouting is writing, up to the current plot beat!

// Sources under readmore //

What is a webweave? Previous art: Third Life | Void Falling | Attempt 33 | Martyn | Limited Life | Nightingale Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | singing songs to the secrets behind my eye | A Hundred Things We Had Not Dreamed Of | solving counting sheep

Pt. 1: Flutter / Valerie Hammond ◆ Sanssouci Palace + The Black Ice Cream Song edit / @mountainqoats ◆ Excerpt from The Average Fourth Grader is a Better Poet Than You (And Me Too) / Hannah Gamble via @blackberryjambaby ◆ of course i bite textpost / @valtsv ◆ Lie Down / Ellen Jenkins ◆ 27 / Daniil Kharms trans. Matvei Yankelevich ◆ Embrace my Soul / Sergio Borga ◆ Color Changing Magic Potion / DirksenCraft ◆ Fragile Bird / @cocoabats ◆ Holding Onto Black Metal / Debra Baxter ◆ Excerpt from III. The Child / Quinn Newell via @voicedwords ◆ Crawler Pot / Rose Schmits ◆ Metamorph / Gunnel Watkins ◆ Untitled eye / Henrik Aa Uldalen ◆ tumblr guide for chad twitter users (real) / @arahir ◆ the best way to solve problems tweet / @wolfpupy

Pt. 2: Reoccurring Nightmare comic / @deep-dark-fears ◆ Knotted Serpentine / Hannah Russell ◆ Garden + Blues in Dallas edit / @mountainqoats ◆ The Watching Moth / Cady Shaye Poorman ◆ NOCTURNAL Series 11 of 20 / Santiago Caruso ◆ Watching Moth / Cady Shaye Poorman ◆ Afterglow / Pei Wang ◆ Sun in an Empty Room + The Young Thousands edit / @mountainqoats ◆ Study for "Mathematics," "The Sciences" / Kenyon Cox ◆ Hard to Swallow / Debra Baxter ◆ Molly Brodak / Molly Brodak via @kafk-a ◆ 02112022, S.T. / @ryebreadgf ◆ Woman with Red Hood / Alice Pike Barney ◆ Come On, Motherfucker, You Survived! / @selfhealingmoments ◆ Excerpt from The Blind Assassin / Margaret Atwood via @flowerytale ◆ Heirloom II / Cindy Rizza

Pt. 3: Excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock / T.S. Eliot ◆ i love you. i can't tell you / @/tturing (OP altered, original contents linked) ◆ Hope is the Thing - Sunset Flight / Erica Wagner ◆ Poppies + Nova Scotia edit / @mountainqoats ◆ Untitled (open/end) / Debra Baxter ◆ Excerpt from Alive at the End of the World / Saeed Jones via @geryone ◆ Weeping (Lamentacia) / Dezider Toth via @amare-habeo ◆ NOCTURNAL Series 7 of 20 / Santiago Caruso ◆ Fridge Funerary Epitaph / @catilinas ◆ Untitled (Trail of eyes) / @julialepetit ◆ Stained Glass Hellebore, California Poppy, + Poppy / Jessica Saunders ◆ 世界の声が聞こえるとき (When the voice of the world is heard) / Tomohiro Inaba ◆ Still from Don't make me do this again gif / @cibastion ◆ Excerpt from So I Locked Myself Inside a Star for Twenty Years / Jeremy Radin ◆ Excerpt from Invisible Monsters / Chuck Palahniuk via @quotespile ◆ Potion Bottles / Edited from Panel 1 Source

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

[thealtoduck]

Headcanons for Children of minor Goddesses…

(Nephele, Psyche, Ino/Leucothea)

——

Nephele (Cloud Goddess of hospitality, generosity, loyalty, peace and shyness)

They tend to have hair as fluffy as the clouds.

Their cabin is simple on the outside but very comfortable on the inside. The furniture has a cloud theme and is known to be very comfortable.

Since Nephele was molded by Zeus from a cloud to be in the image of Hera a lot of Nephele’s children share features with the Queen of the Gods. Because of this Hera has a small soft spot for children of Nephele.

Because they are half-siblings with the centaurs they occasionally receive party invitations from them. To which Chiron always advices them not to go because of how… wild centaurs get.

They don’t have that many poweful abilities but their powers are still helpful.

They have the ability to induce a feeling of peace and relaxation with their presence.

They can physically touch clouds and stand/sit/lay on them.

They are known to be one of the most peaceful cabins at camp and are usually not very strong fighters.

They prefer to help out in the infirmary with the Apollo cabin, their powers helping the injured relax through the pain.

Song I associate with them:

——

Psyche (Goddess of the soul)

They are very beatiful, no suprises there…

There’s also not very many of them as Psyche prefers to stay faithful to Eros, though they do show up every now and then… there’s usually no more than one at camp at a time.

When they are claimed a set of butterfly wings show up on their back. They don’t actually work though it’s just for symbolism.

Their cabin is decorated with a stained glass window of Psyche and Eros. The inside has invisible servants, just like Eros and Psyche’s palace.

Speaking of Eros, he loves Psyche’s demigods even if they are not his and sends them gifts on their birthday. Step-Dad of the year.

Putting aside their mothers feud they get along suprisingly well with Aphrodite’s cabin.

They usually wear colorful clothes and accessories to express their emotions or mood that day.

They have empathic powers, and can see the colour of people’s souls as if they were mood rings. And through touch they can stronger sense what might be effecting someone’s emotions.

Their empathic abilities make them basically lie detectors as they can both see and feel when a person is lying.

They are VERY resilient. If you give them a mission they will finish it and come back even if they lose all their limbs in the process.

They are very loving and caring and are willing to go to Hades and back for the ones they love.

Song I associate with them:

——

Ino/Leucothea (Goddess of the sailors)

One of the common feature Leucothea’s children share is that they have dewy skin.

Their cabin is mainly nautical themed on the outside and on the walls on the inside, there’s a wall painting detailing Ino’s transformation to Leucothea. The furniture and beds take inspiration from that of old cruise liners, such as the Titanic.

The floor of the cabin can also open up to a indoor pool, where they can practice their swimming or just hang out if they feel like it.

Compared to most other children of sea deities they can come off as rather arrogant and snobby, no one know specifically why this is.

As for their powers and abilities:

They are all expert sailors, they know how to use any type of boat, just by instinct.

They are all expert swimmers and can swim at very high speeds (using hydrokinesis to boost themselves).

Minor hydrokinesis, they can mainly only control the water around them while they’re actually in the water. They struggle to do it out of water but with pratice they can learn to do that too, though not to the degree of someone like Percy.

They can breathe underwater and are unaffected by any amount of pressure changes.

Like Percy they also have a nautical sense and know their exact location and coordinates when they’re out on the water.

A lot of them chose to use celestial bronze cutlasses over regular swords.

Song I associate them with: