#oooh i love this sculpt

[death-limes]

she has like... lovehandles! and she's still not skinny even from the side! (that's my big beef with a lot of "plus size" fashion dolls) and aside from the joints being a little stiffer than the other dolls (which could just be bc she's new) she seems to have just as much articulation as everyone else

crying...... thank you monster high...........

(my only complaint is that her neck looks a bit long proportionally to the rest of her body but that's not a huge deal)

[tamagotchikgs]

the stark difference between the comments of dragon age cinematic trailer n my tl is fucking wild everyone hates it in there but is having so much fun w it on the other HBJA,,,, i am curious what the character models r actually gonna look like ingame but i thought it was so cool n fun i didnt think twice abt it until i scrolled down,,,, the games hav always had a silly vibe to them esp varric i dont think the tone is all that different n even moreso for an animated trailer. if they pull a "he's right behind me isnt he" in the game however i wil be . a lil

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Somno ft. Choso

Choso's exhausted from the past few shitty weeks. The only peace he's ever found in his fucked up life was when he comes home to you. So he's distraught when arriving to the house and you're not there. Groaning at your absence, your depleted ass man drags himself to the bedroom. Thoughtlessly tugs off his clothes and slips into bed. Choso's just about unconscious soon as his head hits your white fluffy pillow, your pretty face flashing in his head as he drifts. His mind swirls with visions of the love he has for you, only innocent at first. So your boyfriend's none the wiser when you finally get home, completely basking in his wet dream. You're just not expecting to find a sleeping Choso naked and hard ontop your pretty pastel blankets. The tip of his cock is flushed and angry; his fat, full balls drawn up taut. Small whines bubble out his throat, hips twitchin with small thrusts. Fuck, he looks so sexy.. Absolutely begging to be fucked and no way in hell were you gonna even attempt to resist. Your pussy already flutters at the thought. It's comical how swift you sling off your clothes and climb on top of Choso. Gripping him at the base so you can grind on the sensitive head of his dick. "Ohhh fuuuuck, Choso. Ready for this pussy, Daddy?" You ask him lowly. He gives a sharp intake of breath at the feeling, eyes shifting under his lids but remains asleep. Cute face pinching up when you just barely dip the tip in and out of your tiny hole teasingly. "Hahhhnn.. Mmmm.. Ahh.." "You like that don't you? Such a naughty Daddy.. Probably dreaming of fuckin me huh?" Choso's fingers twitch when you pull off his cock again, your sticky juices drippin down his shaft. The prettiest blush spreads across his cheeks when you grip him firm and tap his slippery dick head at your clit. "Ye-ees, that feels so fuckin good.. Ohhhh, God.. Don't even gotta do anything. Just lemme play with your pretty dick." Your moans raise in volume as you toy with Choso. Humping at him swiftly, dragging your throbbing nub up and down his rigid length. Your thick thighs start to burn at the motions but that's the last thing you're worried bout. "Choso- ahhh.. Love how you feel against me.. Ohhhh! That's it.. Gettin close! Know you wanna feel it.." You lift up, point him at your opening and slide down his girth. The stretch is so fuckin delicious, lil puss almost vibrating as you toss you're head back. "DADDYYY!" Palms flat on his sculpted chest, using your knees to bounce on his twitchy cock. "Whaaat the fuuuuck?" Choso wakes abruptly, tired eyes wide when they focus on you slamming your fluttering cunt on him over and over. Large palms shooting out to anchor himself at your waist. "Y/nnn.. Y/n slow down please. I don't- ahhhhh! Fuh-ck baby.. Wait- wait! J-just gimme a second." You speed up, fuckin his cock rapidly, afraid he's gonna make you stop. The panic on your beautiful face makes warmth lick up his spine, has to shut his eyes not to cum. "No, Choso please! Need this.. Need you! Cant stop. Dicks too good Daddy!" Your pussy walls tremor around him when his cock spasms at your words. Leaning forward onto your hands more to make sure you clit drags against his solid frame, drizzling your arousal all over Choso's lower half. "Nonono! Ohfuck.. Gotta stop! Please, baby, pleeease! Gonna nut if you don't, y/n." He squeezes at your hips trying to keep you still and your dread doubles. But you'll be damned if he takes your orgasm from you. One dainty hand slidin up to grip his throat as your press swift swipes on your clit with the other. Moaning like a whore as the band finally snaps in your core. "Ahh! Thank you, Chosooo! Cummin so good- oh, ohhh! Ohfuck!" The firm squeeze at his neck surprises Choso on being the last straw. Dark eyes rolling back, cum fillin you up as his hips buck into yours reflexively. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth, deep growl gurgling out as your lil puss forcibly milks his nut. "Daaamn it! Oooh shi- ahhahnn.. Gonna- ahhhfuck! G-gonna.. Get you back for this, babygirl." Choso warns you breathlessly.

[nerdallwritey]

Snippet Sunday

Thanks @khywren, @ladyduellist, and @busy-baker for the tags!

I didn't have anything to share for a hot minute but I've gotten into a FLOW these past few days. Part 5 of Beauty and the Bard is coming along SWIMMINGLY.

ADDITIONALLY, thank you all for helping me reach 200 followers! You guys are the absolute best and I'd smooch every single one of you (consensually!) if I could! 😍

I would have posted something sooner to celebrate but uh......I didn't have anything until now lol. Let me just say, I'm VERY excited about this one. So without further ado, here's a snippet from Part 5!!!

Why, of all people, did you have to fall in love with the emotionally stunted, incredibly dramatic, freak weirdo vampire? Wyll was perfectly nice! Shadowheart had a good head on her shoulders! And yet… Your eyes flicked over to his tent momentarily.  He wasn’t even trying. He was fully looking at his nails. He looked up briefly and met your eye. He smirked before moving his hand to wave at you delicately with his fingertips.  “Pack,” you called to him from across camp. “What?” He cupped a hand to his ear as if he couldn’t hear you from the relatively short distance away. “You’ll have to speak up, darling! Or, better yet-” He left his tent and made his way over to yours. “Oooh, no,” you scolded and pointed towards his tent. “Get back over there and pack, you jackass.” “Ouch, love,” Astarion squatted beside you. He looked around your tent at the trinkets you’d accumulated and picked one up, rotating it in his hands. A tiny statue of a mermaid, her face sculpted in midsong. “Heavy little bugger,” he said, testing its weight in his hands. “It’s made of iron, I think,” you said.  “And you’re going to make us lug it into the Underdark? Rather selfish of you, don’t you think?” You snatched the figure out of his hands. “Can I help you with something, Astarion?” He spread out his legs and leaned back against a chest you kept close-by. “Not particularly.” He rested his arms behind his head, very clearly trying to flex his arms to keep your attention on him. You laughed and pushed him, making him fall sideways. “Stop trying to distract me and go pack your own stuff up. I will not help you when you’re inevitably scrambling later.” “Yes, you will,” he said, using your shoulder to help himself stand up. He squeezed it once before heading back in the direction of his tent.  “No, I won’t!” you called after him, but he turned and cupped his hand to his ear again, pretending he couldn’t hear you. You groaned loudly and continued packing.  “Hate to say it, Soldier,” said Karlach, whose tent was set up between yours and Astarion’s, “but you probably will help him.” You sighed heavily. “I know.”

No pressure tagging: @maladaptive-menace (congrats on the new puppy! no rush!), and @astarioffsimpmain 🥰 I think most everybody else has already been tagged, but please participate if you want to!!

[yiminsuu]

NSFW Freyr Headcanons

Hope you like this one as much as the sfw headcanons!

Freyr isn't the patient type, nor is he very merciful when it comes to making love. He'll be waiting to have that encounter under the moon to finally mark your body as his, as he did with your heart.

Freyr wants to see you shine under the light and admire the sculpted beauty under your clothes.

Dominant and a little rough. Freyr's hands hold your legs and hips in place as he pleasures you with his tongue, he lets out small noises just to see you squirm and he loves seeing you enjoy yourself.

More of a receiver than a giver when it comes to oral, not because of the pleasure but of how beautiful you look as your mouth tries to take all of him, and he will praise you as he hits the back of your throat.

The little whines and grunts he makes when he's close are adorable.

Freyr won't come in your mouth, oooh no, the only place he'll cum is inside of you.

Hickeys and love bites on your breasts, neck, jawline, hips and waist, and thighs.

He likes to follow what positions you will both find most pleasurable, but missionary is his favorite, he's able to see you so overwhelmed with bliss as he moves into you. He doesn't go faster no matter how much you beg him, Freyr is rough yes, and patience is a challenge for both of you at this point.

"Darling, you have no idea how much I have waited to see you like this..."

You look beautiful for him, cheeks flushed with and eyebrows furrowed as you moan in pleasure.

"Such a gorgeous sight, and all of it it's just for me."

Tries to bite down his moans and grunts just to hear you, groaning only when he's close to cumming.

Orgasm denial. Freyr stops when the two of you are ready for the delicious release, and he chuckles when he receives a whine from you, keeping your hips in place just to feel you clenching around him with neediness. In the end, he'll have you sobbing under him and pleading for dear life to let you finally come.

As I said, you need patience. He's the God of Fertility, did you think he would just let you take him without making sure you are ready for his children?

Breeding, I see him totally being into it.

When he decides to have mercy on you, his thrusts become fervid and faster just as you wanted. He loses the control he held onto, and he’s groaning as he tries to silence himself by kissing you or burying his face in your neck.

It’s practically over for you when Freyr reaches to rub your sensitive clit in light circles. His fingers are skilled, and he coaxes you on by whispering sweet nothings in your ear, your whole body explodes in pleasure the more he thrusts into your orgasm, making it longer and leaving you breathless as his seed paints your walls.

Freyr makes sure you are feeling satisfied and properly attended to when you finish your intimacy. He’ll carry you to the nearest river so you can relax and you are peppered with kisses everywhere as you giggle, being pulled to him for an embrace as you swim.

If he wants to go again, splash him with water in the face.

[nkjemisin]

You should try to go see public works Tempest in central park, it’s really incredible and reminded me of the city we became. It’s super insane and beautiful and wild and hard to describe, so even though it’s insane to ask someone to go stand in line all day to see a play based off a random tumblr message I really think you should!

Oooh, I haven't done the line for Shakespeare in the Park in years. Not sure I still have it in me, since it requires getting up at 3 or 4 am and spending hours fighting line-jumpers and so on. But I've been hearing good things about this year's Tempest so maybe I'll muster up the energy. Thanks for the recommendation!

Since you reminded me of it, here's a deleted scene/alternate opening I once wrote for THE WORLD WE MAKE. I decided on a different opening for the final version, obvs, but maybe you'll enjoy what might have been. Cutting because long.

     He's just a man standing on a rooftop.  The outfit he's wearing is bespoke, by a Harlem tailor who came in second on Project Runway's last season.  The jacket is rich brown suede, fine-stitched, over olive-tan pants and a piqué shirt of deepest royal indigo, and he's wearing the hell out of it.  If there were anyone around to see, they'd think he was a model, standing in the kind of casual-at-attention pose that only men in magazine photo shoots ever do, with one hand in a pocket and his gaze thoughtfully locked on the cityscape horizon.  The model aesthetic is reinforced by the fact that he's got a lean, strong figure and the kind of racial ambiguity that Hollywood diversity advocates love:  brown skin that's not too brown, lips full enough to be either natural or recent collagen injections, thick eyebrows that are as sculpted as his cheekbones, eyes with just enough epicanthic fold to qualify as "exotic" but not in like an ethnic way.

     He's not a model.  He's just Manhattan, human representative of New York's contributions to the fashion, media, and sex work industries.  He's not even trying particularly hard to look good.  He has simply stopped resisting what comes naturally.

     But he's about to be late for work -- and while New York custom permits a degree of conspicuous tardiness as a social power move in certain situations, this particular job is too personally important to him for such games.  So he steps up onto the low wall that surrounds the roof, and then he steps off.

     It's fine.  The building is twelve stories tall; anything over five stories is required to have an elevator per city ordinance.  He's been practicing, too, so all he has to do is shut his eyes and imagine, and the city's power holds him aloft in midair as solidly as if he's stepping onto flooring.  (He is; it's just flooring that exists in several other iterations of his universe.)  Even with this, however, he makes sure to take a step or two forward before calmly turning away from the cityscape.  People don't usually stare at the back of an elevator, after all -- and verisimilitude is key.  "First floor, please," he murmurs. In earlier days of the city, building elevators were a complicated luxury that required trained staff to operate.  In current days of the city, many elevators run on voice activation. At Manhattan's request, there is an electronic ping of acknowledgement, followed by a very faint echo of blended, long-vanished voices:  "Watch the door, please, watch your hands, going down."  Then he begins to descend.  It's smooth, slow; this is only a mid-sized building, not modern or expensive enough to have an express elevator.  Only the fact that he's descending through thin air makes it odd.

     Just above the sidewalk his descent slows, letting him drift to a gentle halt.  There are a few dozen people on the street in this moment, and some of them notice as he just stands there for a moment, letting the metaphysical aethers settle and the metaphorical elevator doors open.  The ones who stare are tourists.  New Yorkers generally don't react to strangeness, but they do notice it, if only to shake their heads and murmur "This fucking city," to themselves before moving on.  Manhattan catches the eye of one of the starers, winks and smiles, then strides off down the street.

     As he walks, he hums John Coltrane's "Central Park West" -- not for power this time, but simply because he's walking along Central Park West and likes the song.  It's also a beautiful day. Here at the heart of the city it is clear that autumn encroaches:  Central Park is across the street, dense with color-shifting trees.  Their whispers speak to the part of Manhattan that was more, once, than just concrete and cars; the island has always been here, after all, crossroads for many peoples, and those millennia of commerce were enough to form the building blocks of the living entity that it is now.  But mostly, he just likes that rustling sound, and the flickers of color and movement, and the faint whiff of chemical sugars forming and breaking down within the leaves.  Something about that scent, and the wind's occasional brisk sharpness, speaks to him.

     There is the lightest of touches upon the part of him that is more than a man.  Just a ping, to get his attention.  "You wanna focus, or you gonna just keep spacing out about the pretty pretty trees, Mr. I Was Bebop Before It Was Cool?"

     They've all figured out that words work better than thoughts.  They are one city, the six of them, and if they ever need to, they can function as a single brain and heart and will -- but doing that is as overwhelming as it is thrilling.  New York isn't supposed to be any single thing, see; the distinct characters of its boroughs are part of its strength.  More personally, Manny's probably never going to be super-comfortable with letting his fellow parts of the city into his head, because he's got enough going on in there already. 

     But he's right in reminding Manny to focus.  "Just getting into the spirit," Manny replies, waiting for a gap in the traffic before trotting across the street.  Then he vaults the low stone wall around the edge of the park.  It's a twelve-foot drop beyond, but he manages it easily enough, landing in a crouch in a wooded thicket already carpeted in red and gold leaves.  Doesn't even make his knees twinge.  Nothing can hurt New York, in New York, except New York. 

     Well.  And one other thing.

     He moves forward at a brisk Midtown pace, pushing aside the branches of small trees as gently as he can so as not to damage them.  He starts finding white tendrils almost immediately.  Just small patches here and there:  three wigglers on a broad, still-green sycamore leaf, one on the tree's gnarling roots nearby.  A patch shaped like a handprint growing atop a hooded garbage can; that one's especially nasty, positioned as it is to infect anyone who actually tries to deposit their litter in the can instead of just tossing it somewhere.  "Rude," Manny murmurs.  He's getting rid of the patches as he passes them, just by touching the wood or ground or metal near each cluster and letting a little of "Central Park West" riff through his mind and down his arm and out through his fingers.  Earworms can be handy.  Good for killing other wormlike things.

     (Not so long ago, it would have taken everything Manny had to get rid of these things.  He had to replace all his credit cards after symbolically buying all the real estate around a particular rock in Inwood Park.  Now, however, the city is whole -- and these tendrils, tenacious as they are, are tourists from another urban locale who've overstayed their welcome.  It's easy to obliterate them, but it's more important to find the bus they came in on, and deal with that.)

     "Red alert!" says Padmini -- Queens -- suddenly.  She tugs on the shared part of their consciousness, projecting an image onto it that is stunning in its precision:  a three-dimensional and topographical map, with a moving cursor at its center and a GPS coordinate meter in the bottom corner.  Padmini abruptly zooms them in on the cursor, and then she presents them with a simplified view through her own eyes.

     There, jolting slightly as Padmini runs, is their quarry.  To most other people in Central Park, the young man who slips down a leaf-thick hill and then scrabbles his way over a tumbled, mossy pile of bedrock is just another cross-country runner, or maybe a parkour practitioner with a greater love of natural settings than most.  He's a lanky Indian-looking guy, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt -- but through the lens of Padmini's vision, Manny sees the rest.  The guy's got patches of white fronds all over him, and as he runs they waft back like long hair which just happens to be growing from his forearms and shins and ass.  Manny's used to this, people who look like yeti crabs, however horrible it is.  Far worse is the tendril which projects from the back of the young man's neck, thick and veined in a disturbingly umbilical way, forming a long white cord which twists up and out of sight amid the trees.  It stretches up into the sky, Manny knows from three months' experience, attenuating until it disappears from human eyesight with distance -- but wending southward before it does.  They all know where that cable terminates.

     "Mike check," says Veneza, and Manny's mental eye shifts to her view.  She's standing under one of the park's stone bridges, her vision bouncing a little as she crouches to stretch out her ankles.  Getting ready to run.  Manny feels her excitement as the tendril-covered man comes into view, jogging over a grassy hill covered in early-afternoon sunbathers.  But who's he kidding?  They all enjoy this.  "That's it.  Come to mamãe.  Drive him like a li'l doggie on the range, Queeny McQueenyface."

     "I can't believe you mixed like three metaphors in ten seconds," Padmini replies -- but she zigs left, across one of the roads of the park.  Manny catches his breath as she veers into a bike lane, because Central Park bikers all think they're in the Tour de France, but in the same moment he feels her latch into the bikers' sense of hurry and entitlement, drawing their power into her legs.  Her pace speeds up sharply, until she's nearly flying down a sloping sidewalk, veering now and again to move around walkers and a small crowd near a pretzel vendor.

     "That's the Jersey in me.  Metaphors are our pork roll."

"Your what?"

"Pork roll. Look it -- wait, shit, hang on."

     Tendril man has seen Veneza and stopped, halfway down the grassy hill.  It's eerie to Manny how still he is.  After all the running and climbing he's done, he should be out of breath, shoulders heaving, dripping sweat, but he isn't.  It's just like the other cases of this they've encountered in the past few weeks; they're running on something other than human power.  These tendril-people aren't avatars, however; they're more like drones, sent forth by some other malevolent consciousness and endowed with supernatural power only temporarily, and for their task.  And if they don't catch this poor guy before that power gets done using him --  Well.  Manny picks up the pace. 

     Padmini skids to a halt.  (A man nearby does a double-take, then nods in a grudgingly impressed way at her athleticism.)  "Shit.  He's going to bolt, isn't he?"

     In lieu of any reply, they all see Tendril Man bolt.  He jumps off the steeper side of the rocky hill -- a ten-foot drop; Manny really hopes the poor guy was in shape before he got drafted as a spectral conduit for a hostile extradimensional essence, or he's going to feel that in the morning. Then Tendril Man takes off, moving with truly impressive speed up a paved hill-path.

     "FUCK," two of them think.  (Manny doesn't curse, but he empathizes.)  They all take off running too.

     Tendril Man is running toward a big, round building at the top of the hill.  Its vendor doors are shut and there are only a few people hanging around near it, but abruptly he zigs toward a big wooden gate labeled PERFORMER ENTRANCE -- and vaults it, with the ease of a master gymnast.  Manny might be able to think of a way over it too, if he gives himself a minute; surely there is some quintessentially cityish concept, like elevators for tall buildings, that he can harness to grant himself the ability to jump like that.  In the fluster of the moment, however, he can't think of anything.  Gotta work on that, do better at having a "jumping" construct ready to go under duress.

     In lieu of leaping, however, he manages to remember the grating sound of garbage trucks barrelling down the street at oh dark thirty in the morning, usually with wonky transmissions and brakes that screech loudly enough to set off car alarms.  Manny's seen several of them scrape or bang into cars without bothering to stop -- and so he draws into himself the desperate need to hurry and finish a shift, the hulking size and diesel-fueled strength of the trucks, the cheerful pragmatism of the tough workers who chuck heavy bags and kick rats with unflappable equanimity.  And as Manny runs at the gate, the world blurs a little and an eyewatering stench surrounds him, and he finds it almost impossible to care about collateral damage because he's got a job to do, come on, come on, let's go...

     He remembers enough of himself to dip his shoulder a little as he hits the gate.  It only looks like wood; underneath, there's plenty of metal, and he sees that the gate has an electronic number-lock.  Probably pretty solid.  But his supernaturally-powered shoulder smashes the gate wide open, actually cracking the whole frame in half, too, and part of the fence beyond it.

     Oops.  Well, he'll make a donation on the website, because now that he's through the gate he sees:  THE DELACOURTE THEATER WELCOMES YOU TO SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK.

     Tendril Guy is running down the steps of what Manny now sees is a huge open-air amphitheater.  He leaps again, a pretty impressive standing jump onto the stage -- and then he stops abruptly.  There's a set being deconstructed here; Shakespeare in the Park only runs during the summer months, so someone's in the middle of stripping gigantic rolls of fake grass off the stage floor.  And now, from within a huge prop built to look like a small apartment building, the avatar of New York steps forth to confront their enemy.

     He's calling himself "Neek," these days -- a phonetic pronunciation of the initials for New York City.  He hasn't told them his real name.  Manny's not sure it matters anyway; doesn't Manny, of all people, understand that they are no longer who they were?  The knowledge and joy and danger of eight million people has found its focus in Neek, and like any of their fellow great cities, this makes him strange.  São Paulo was the same, whenever Manny had time and peace enough to study him: a young-old man who radiated urbane cynicism and eerie wisdom all at once.  Hong Kong too.  Maybe this is the difference between those who represent boroughs or neighborhoods, and those who are whole cities in themselves. 

     Or maybe it's just Neek.  "Yo, man, take a breath," he says to Tendril Guy, as he slouches out of shadow.  "Touch some, uh, astroturf.  You keep letting that shit run you, won't be anything of you left."

     Tendril Guy immediately turns to run, but by this point Manny has reached the other side of the stage.  Veneza is in the ampitheater, trotting toward them from the other direction, and from somewhere backstage they can hear Padmini cursing and shoving something heavy aside, because apparently backstage is a mess amid the set breakdown.  Unless Tendril Guy can fly -- and Manny puts nothing past the Woman in White -- then he's got nowhere left to run.

     It's a dangerous time, though.  In the past, whenever they've cornered one of her minions...  Tendril Guy backs up, looks around, starts to get tense.  Manny tries to think up a construct, and finds himself looking around.  At the stage.

     Neek's gaze flicks to him, and the little smile on his face widens.

     "Two cities," he declares suddenly, spreading his arms wide and raising his voice.  The Delacourte's acoustics are perfect, of course, designed to facilitate an outdoors theatrical performance.  "Both alike in dignity!  In fair Manhattan where we lay our scene."

     Of course the theater absorbs this slightly-fudged homage, echoes it, amplifies it, and sends back a reverberation of energy:  the faint murmurs and anticipation of a crowd, a lilt of music from a nonexistent orchestra.  For just a fleeting moment Manny can almost see the suggestion of bodies in the amphitheater seats, shadowy heads that turn to each other or crane their necks or flip through Playbills.  Ready to be enraptured.

     Manny finds himself grinning -- but then he panics a little as Neek raises his eyebrows pointedly, because Manny doesn't have any Shakespeare memorized.  But Broadway is only a few dozen blocks away; maybe he can use that instead?  He sifts quickly through the grab-bag of random quotes in his head. Can't think of an actual line from an actual play, but it's a direct reference, so he clears his throat awkwardly and sings:  "They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway.  There might be city magic in the air."

     Stage lights, multihued but mostly white, appear above the seats.  The lights aren't real. Manny can see most of the lighting equipment disassembled and stacked up to one side of the stage. Tendril Guy flinches suddenly and violently, staggering back.  Steam rises as Tendril Guy raises his arms defensively, the tendrils on him whipping and hissing wildly as the city's light begins to burn them away.

     They have to keep it going.  Veneza giggles and runs down the steps, leaping to a crouch as if she's acting out some play or another, and sings, "Now is the time to seize the day!  Answer the call and don't delay!  New York can be righted, boroughs united; let us seize the day!" In response, loose cables curled on one side of the stage suddenly come to life, whipping around Tendril Guy's legs to keep him from running again.

     One of the doors on the prop building slams open dramatically. Beyond it they can see Padmini pushing aside a rack of clothing that persistently keeps trying to roll toward her.  She manages it, stumbles out, and glowers around at all of them.  Veneza gestures frantically for her to take up the thread; Neek spreads his hands too in the universal sign of Come on, hurry up.  Finally, with a little growl, Padmini snaps, "Oh, fine.  'Immigrants:  We get the job done!'" This doesn't seem to have any effect at first, but then Padmini shoves a large, heavy-looking wooden desk out of the way with ease; she's much stronger, now. Enough to get this job done.

     As performances go, it's all terrible.  Slapdash, random, corny; Manny won't be surprised if in the morning they all receive a clipped-out review from a theater magazine that exists only in some alternate reality, panning all of them for defiling the stage.  But as a construct, drawing on the power of three boroughs and the delight of a thousand audiences, from the Delacourte to the Fringe Festival and back, it's exactly what they need. 

     Then, his voice muffled by his own extradimensional growths, Manny hears Tendril Guy -- or maybe the guy within the pelt of tendrils -- try to speak.  "A-all the w-world..." he murmurs, his voice thick, too deep, flanged in a way that sounds like bad special effects.  He's steaming all over, now.  Ah, and at last Manny sees the tendrils burning away, peeling off and curling into nothingness.  As he lowers his arms, Manny sees that he's sweaty-faced and visibly exhausted... but he is smiling.  He turns to face the whispering, flickering audience, and all at once Manny can feel him.  Tendril Guy is part of New York, again -- and he knows it, and some part of his soul rejoices with the knowledge.  Probably helps that the guy is a former theater kid himself; Manny can feel that, now that the Enemy's influence has been broken. Neek grins at Manny; he can feel it, too.

     So then Neek goes over to Tendril Guy, leans close, and blows on the now-shriveled cord attached to the back of his neck.  It snaps free as if Neek's breathed fire onto it, uttering a faint creel of inhuman pain -- and then the cord is snatched away upwards, into the darkening evening sky.  Manny catches a fleeting hint of sinuous movement against the clouds, southward, and then it is gone.

     Tendril Guy, who is now just Some Guy, beams at Neek.  Then he steps back and lifts a finger.  "All the world's a stage," he says again -- clearly this time, in a pleasant baritone, projecting with the ease of long practice.  "And all the men and women merely players!  They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."

     He does the whole monologue then, perfectly.  Not that Manny would know if he got it right -- but the Delacourte does, and as Manny glances out at their whispery audience, he sees smiles, hears soft "ahs" and giggles of approval with every precisely-enunciated line.  As Some Guy finishes, applause breaks out, echoing with unreality but loud and enthusiastic.  The artist formerly known as Tendril Guy beams in delight and extends his hands for Manny and Neek to take.  They do.  Padmini, her pique fading now that she's no longer fighting furniture, shakes her head and takes Neek's hand; Veneza giggles and runs up the steps to take Manny's.  The applause goes on as, uh, Theater Guy leads them in first one bow, and then another.  Someone in the audience whistles.  Someone else yells "Encore!"  It's intoxicating.  They bow a third time.  As at last the applause fades and the lights start to go dark... Theater Guy collapses, between them.

     "Oh, no," Veneza says, her delight vanishing.  "Please, not again -- "

     "He's fine," Manny says, crouching by Theater Guy, though he checks Theater Guy's neck-pulse and breathing just to be sure.  It's there, though the guy's skin is clammy with sweat.

     "Close," Neek says.  He's looking up at the sky, after the ugly cable that had been attached to the guy's neck.

     It's only the second time that they've successfully rescued one of these agents of the Woman in White, sent forth from her bastion in Staten Island to... well, Manny's not exactly sure what their purpose is.  Are they superspreaders meant to reinfect the city, and thus help her regain the foothold that she lost three months before?  Are they drones of a sort, reconnoitering enemy territory?  Either way, the result is always the same, if Manny and his fellow avatars don't catch the tendril-bearer and cleanse them in time:  the person burns out and dies, all of their strength used up by the alien intelligence that has worn them like a puppet.

     Not this time, though.  "Let's get him outside," Manny says, grunting as he pulls Theater Guy up.  "Easier for an ambulance to get to him out there."

     "But what about after?" Padmini asks.  She comes over to help him wrestle the guy into a sitting position, so that Manny can pull him into a fireman's carry.  "Uff, he's heavy!  But if somebody calls his family and they take him back to Staten Island, will she just take him over again?  What if she's mad at him for getting caught by us?"

     "It's fine," Neek says.  He's still turned away from them, facing southward.  There is an odd note in his voice, however, which makes Manny frown at his back.  Neek sounds... distracted.  "Most of the folks on Staten are fine.  The ones who commute here lose their little wigglers when they step off the ferry, unless they've got one of those bigger cable-things attached to them.  Grow 'em back on the after-work ride.  They don't even notice."

     "Remember what it was like when she was all over the city," Manny adds.  "All those people she... infected.  She used them if she needed them and ignored them otherwise.  They became part of her, but they didn't seem to mean anything to her, any more than..."  He shakes his head, to the degree that he can with Theater Guy on his shoulders.  "Individual hairs on a person's head.  How often do we notice when we lose one, or when it grows back?"

     "We shouldn't let him go back at all," Padmini says, scowling.  "We know she's doing something to all those people.  He's safer here!"

     Neek focuses enough to turn and eye her over his shoulder.  His tone is mild and his expression neutral, but his words have a sharp point.  "You gonna spring for an apartment for him somewhere?  Let him go crash with ya auntie and the fam?"

     "No, but -- "

     "I know a good spot under the Williamsburg."  Neek's relentless.  "Probably still good even with all the cleanup and construction since the bridge broke.  Warm on cold nights, hard to see so the kids and assholes don't fuck with you.  We could dump him there."

     Padmini sets her jaw.  "Fine.  Point made.  But Staten Islanders are still people, and we should try to help them."

     Veneza, who was peering into the orchestra pit in fascination, turns back to them, plainly uneasy at the tension she's picking up.  "We are.  But I mean, Pads... that's not really our job."

     Now they all fall into an uncomfortable silence, because sometimes the truth is hard.  And the truth is that the avatar of Staten Island is not here with them today because she has rejected them, and thrown her people to the interdimensional wolves by doing so. They are all of them New York... but they are not Staten Island, not anymore. Theater Guy's ultimate fate isn't theirs to make.

     "Ay yo fuck that bird," Neek says, scowling at Veneza, who blinks in surprise.  "Her and Squigglebitch tried to kill us, remember?  Tried to eat you.  Let Staten Island die."

     Padmini stares at him.  "Wait.  What?  Let a whole borough die?  Are you crazy?"

     "Fuck them."  Neek gestures sharply, southward.  "Everyone on Staten Island.  Buncha racist redneck Republican dumbasses, nobody needs them.  They're the reason she's still here, hanging over this city like a fucking guillotine.  I'm tired of stressing about this shit!  Let her flyover country ass die with the rest of them nobody-nothing sons of bitches."

     Manny flinches, despite himself.  That's beyond harsh.  And something about this little rant feels... off.  He's known Neek for all of three months, but in that time Neek has been a quiet and low-key leader of their group, unusually even-keeled for the personification of a city known for its aggression.  Are you okay?  rises to Manny's lips, but he refrains from saying it, aware that it could sound patronizing.  He's wondering it, though.

     All at once different lights snap on within the theater -- not stage lights, but all the rest. Padmini frowns at this.  "Hey, we don't need these anymore.  Which one of you -- "

     Abruptly a piercing electronic alarm sounds throughout the theater, and the lights all turn a startling, awful red.

     "What the shit?"  Neek says.  He blinks as if dazed, turning to stare up at the lights -- and then he stiffens.  "Manny.  You doing that?"

     Manny can barely hear him over the noise.  "No, why would I?  Can't you stop it?"  Neek is New York.  He has better control over the city's power than any of them... but all of a sudden, the city feels strange. Sluggish and reluctant, when Manny gently urges it to shut off the alarm. It's responsive, but unreliable and slow in a way Manny's never noticed before.

     And to Manny's surprise, Neek takes a step back, his very posture radiating unease.  "I... can't.  Nothing's happening. What the fuck."  He shakes his head.

     "Yo, uh, we should go," Veneza says, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet.  "If that's a break-in alarm -- I mean, we did break in, but -- "

     The Delacourte sits the middle of Central Park, in one of the city's toniest neighborhoods, and is the site of one of its most popular attractions.  "Out," Manny snaps, when it becomes clear that Neek has been so thrown by the situation that he's not reacting quickly enough. "Now."

     Veneza's already moving, running to the edge of the stage.  Manny follows her as quickly as he can with Theater Guy, and Padmini grabs Neek, dragging him along when he doesn't move fast enough.  "Cover your faces!" she cries -- and, yeah, if the city's magic suddenly isn't helping them anymore, that's a good idea.  But Manny can't, unless he wants to drop Theater Guy, who's been through enough.

     There are people milling around in front of the Delacourte, mostly looky-loos reacting to the continuous beeeeeeep of the alarm, but Manny sees how many of them have smartphones in hand.  It can't be helped.  He crouches and carefully sets Theater Guy on a patch of soft grass, and catches the eye of an older lady who is staring at all of them.  "Call 911," he says, with as much urgency as he can.  They can't stop people from filming them fleeing the scene of an apparent break-in, but maybe the sight of someone in distress will distract most of the onlookers.  "This man is hurt and needs an ambulance.  I don't know what happened to him, he just collapsed."

     The lady gasps and starts punching at her phone.  Veneza grabs Manny, tugging so he'll leave Theater Guy there on the ground.  He doesn't want to.  If the cops arrive first, there's a strong chance they'll arrest Theater Guy for the break-in.  If he could just make sure the paramedics arrive first, and that the cops think the alarm is just a mechanical error...  He touches the ground next to his knee and reaches into it, groping for the feel of city power --

     He finds echoes of old audience frustration and annoyed staff and prematurely shutdown vendor services... but these energies will not move in response to his will. What's there feels different from all the other times he's ever used city power -- clotted, somehow. 

     "Dude," Veneza says, giving him a hard yank.  They can hear sirens outside the park, coming closer.  "Come on, man, I ain't doing Rikers for you!"

     Grinding his teeth in frustration, Manny lets Veneza pull him away. They book it for Central Park West again, zigging southward first since there are woods and rock hills in that direction that can obscure their route for anyone trying to put them on TMZ.

       In their wake, the Delacourte's alarm blares until sirens drown it out.

TWWM Deleted Scene 1 by N. K. Jemisin is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Kinktober- Drabble #1

Character: Natasha Romanoff 

Kinks: Breath play, praise, Knife play & Breeding

Authors note: had a problem with the tags and had to repost this so if you're seeing this again sorry for the deja vu

Authors note pt 2: Nat has a penis so if thats not your cup of tea this is not the fic for you

Word count: 1130       Nat Masterlist     Marvel Masterlist    Kinktober  

“Oooh fuck!” you moan as her cock pumps in and out of your soaked pussy

  Her hand wraps around your throat as she quickens her pace, moaning at the way your incredibly warm walls squeeze her. You let out a moan of your own and she smirks, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of her cock hits that spongy spot inside you. You let out another moan and dig your fingers into her muscular biceps as she continues to pound into you

  “Fuck” she grunts, “You’re taking me so well. So perfect and pretty for me.”

  You whimper at her praises, mouth falling agape as the pleasure she’s making you feel makes it incredibly hard to form words. She watches the way your tits bounce as her hips slam into you, and her grip on your neck tightens.

  “You’re my good girl, aren’t you baby?” You nod as best you can but she shakes her head, “Use your words.”

  “Y-yes” you manage to gasp out between thrusts, “I’m your good girl Tasha, all yours”

  She hums, “Damn right you are. My beautiful kotenok(kitten) to fuck whenever I want.”

  You moan again and she quickly leans down, connecting her lips to yours in a searing kiss. You open your mouth for her and she greedily swallows every sound you make as your tongues dance together. Eventually she releases your neck and pulls away, her proud smirk from earlier returns as she watches your eyes flutter.

  “God you feel so good” she gasps out, “It’s like your pussy was made for me.”

  You hum in agreement as you watch her, subconsciously licking your lips as you watch the sweat drip down her sculpted abs. She smiles as she watches your gaze travel over her abdomen and over to her thighs. She makes sure to tense the muscles as much as possible as she continues to thrust into you, and the sight of her straining muscles nearly makes your mouth go dry.

  While you’re distracted she takes the opportunity to grab her knife from the bedside table, and she nervously chews her lip as she thinks of the best way to ask if she can introduce the item into this situation without alarming you or making you fear what she is capable of. She would never hurt you, and she never wants to scare you either.

  “Kotenok(kitten), you trust me, right?” she asks

  “ ‘course I do” you manage to reply, brain hazy from your pleasure

  She nods, “And you know I’d never hurt you?”

  “Mhm. You love me, and my Tasha never hurts who she loves.”

  “That’s right baby. I love you so much. Would never hurt you, not ever.” she assures you

  You give her a dopey smile as her words sink in and cause a warmth to spread throughout your chest. “I love you too”

  She smiles at you, basking in the way you look at her with pure adoration, even in your nearly blissed out state, “Can I try something with you? I promise if you don’t like it or if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll stop right away.”

  You nod and another moan slips past your lips, “Yes! Try whatever you want, just please don’t stop”

  “Not gonna stop kotenok(kitten).” she tells you, opening the closed blade, “Gonna fuck you all night long, until you’re so full of my cum that you’re dripping.”

  You moan again, causing her to groan at the way your walls flutter around her, and she slowly brings the blade to your thigh, pressing the flat side into your warm flesh. You gasp as you feel the cold metal against your skin and despite your hazy mind you are distinctly aware that it’s a knife she has pressed against you.

  She carefully studies your expression, wanting to make sure you’re still comfortable. Satisfied that you don’t seem to mind it she continues to trail it higher up your thigh and onto your stomach. A shiver runs through you as you feel the tip of the blade press slightly harder into your diaphragm and an almost pornagrapic moan leaves you as her cock slams into you once more.

  She can feel how close you are now, and she is as well, “Fuck kotenok(kitten), I’m so close. I know you are too baby. You gonna cum for me?”

  You nod, “But you gotta fill me up first Tasha, please. Wanna feel you cum inside me. Please!”

  She moans, throwing her head back at your words, “Yeah? You want me to fill this greedy little pussy up huh? Want me to knock you up?”

  “Yes!” you cry out, grabbing onto her toned biceps once more, “Please Tasha! Wanna have your baby, please!”

 “R-really?” she asks, slightly taken aback by your words. She knows you love her, and she loves you, but she never in her wildest dreams thought she would find anyone willing to have a family with her

  You nod frantically, “Yes, of course. I love you. Wanna give you a baby. Please Tasha!”

  Tears of happiness build in her eyes and she tosses the knife aside, opting to wrap her hand back around your throat instead, “Fuck yes baby, gonna fill you up. Gonna cum in you so much I’m guaranteed to breed my kotenok(kitten).”

  “Please, please” you mumble as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge

  She tightens her grip on your throat as her hips stutter and just as she’s about to come undone she looks at you, “Cum for me baby”

  With a loud moan and an intense grip on her arms you do as you’re told, cumming as your back arches off the mattress. As your walls tighten immensely around her she somehow manages to keep fucking you through your bliss until it becomes too much for her.

 “Fuck yes!” she shouts, painting your walls white with her cum

  You let out a sound between a gasp and a moan as you feel her filling you up, and as her thrusts slow she releases your throat once more. She smiles down at you, watching as bliss overtakes your features.

  “I love you so much Y/n.” she admits, kissing you softly

  A dopey grin spreads across your face, “I love you too Tasha. I really hope I get pregnant”

  She gently cups your face, her other hand caressing your stomach, “Me too. But maybe we should keep trying, just to be safe. The more I fill you, the better the chances, right?”

 You nod, a blush covering your cheeks, “Right.”

  “Good girl” she praises and you can feel her starting to harden inside you once more. You’re in for a long night, and honestly, you can’t wait.

Taglist:  @wandaromamoff69 @mmmmokdok @nataliasknife @natashasilverfox @when-wolves-howl @danveration @naomi-m3ndez @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @readings-stuff @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @xchaiix @iaminluvwithnat @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @jedi-athen-orion @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145

[peachesofteal]

quick ask between uni classes

because oooh I desperately love every chapter of Simple Math and new one is not an exception. if not more because gHOAP MY SWEETS HELP, SAVE BUN PLEASE 😭😭 poor thing, but I'm so proud of her fighting the setted toxic mindset 💜

I woke up to new chapter and was hehe the morning is gonna be good >:))))

also

"You want to be a doctor. He wants a housewife.

You want to be a mother; he promises to beat them out of you.

You want a life in the sun. He wants to become a shadow himself".

I liked this part so much, I reread it couple of times. Because it's written so well, it's so on the point, how abusers do that, how they sculpt you in a shell of yourself.

aaaand wanna see Graves in his grave hehe 🤭

that's all thank you for that delicious meal today MOTHER 🙏 (like respectfully and admiring, if you are comfortable with us calling you that, if not I apologise and it won't happen again)

She really is trying, our poor Bun, and so are they. I'm excited to share what happens next with everyone (it's finished/edited so I actually feel excited about it) I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

[kitofawriter]

LMK season 5 Episodes 3-4 spoilers below the cut!

SWK is very grumpy about the headache he will presumably be having this whole season. Tang, your loud rambling is not helping (JK ILY)

“I didn’t think they were real!!” Tang, you should’ve learned by now, assume any super powerful thing is real until proven otherwise.

Sketch plan section!!

Monkey king brand band aid

Hype man M-M-M-Mei!

I love MK’s little Nüwa drawing!

“It’s burning!” Tang, you guys survived the Samadi fire incident, I think you’ll live

Toasted peach!

Also SWK making sure Tang gets to do the lore dumb is adorable. And Tang is so happy he gets to do it!!

Lots of painted style, love it!

“There’s always a temple” “m-mmhmm, yep”

“Sounds like Tangy’s on board!” Sandy, I love you so much, you deserve so many good things. Hold on while I grab some silver star stickers from Shifu Subodhi just for you.

As someone who just got home from a hiking trip in the mountains, I feel you MK, stairs are the worst. I wouldn’t climb all that either.

Alpine Sandy!!

Tang can’t climb either those weak ankles though!!

Pigsy questioning is MK knows ‘trial by fire’ is a metaphor is hilarious considering he raised that boy, he’s probably the one that taught him most of the metaphors he knows.

Li Jing sitting by his magic tracker muttering ‘hmm, yes, they will use magic and I will find them’ is absolutely what SWK is picturing.

Cloud doesn’t count as magic I guess.

Pigsy, you have to carry him! His weak ankles!

“It’s just my good fluffy boy! Loophole baby!” Alright, cloud as SWK’s pet fics are needed now.

Well if it isn’t the consequences of his own actions.

Pheonix!! Fenghuang to be exact!

MK mocking SWK about the “trial”

Creation flashbacks?? Also since MK was like made directly by Nüwa doesn’t that like, make him the equivalent of royalty? Hand sculpted monkey right here.

“Classic final boss aesthetic” he’s not wrong.

Is MK prophesied to fix the pillar or is this a past life kinda situation?

“I’m feeling confident!” Traps!

The return of smarty kid!!

SWK got free acupuncture

Lots of references this season!

Grumpy SWK

“They represent my many many dads!” They acknowledged it!!!

I love how SWK is the only one with any damage, thus indicating he keeps taking the blows for (the likely oblivious) MK

“First time was just a city, don’t get cocky”

“You know you just gave me a third path I have to choose from right?” “Bud! You know what I mean!!”

“I thought maybe we’d find a map that we’d never end up using” so be fair, you did use the Samadi fire map.

Oooh! Flashback!!

Oh I do not like the implications of this.

OH I DO NOT LIKE THE IMPLEMENTATIONS OF THIS!!!

This was a legend of Zelda dungeon. They even got a shiny stone at the end.

SWK is in denial, but also he’s right.

They made it just in time to turn around.

Did anyone have Tang’s weak ankles on their season five bingo card?

So Nüwa made MK to be there to fix the pillars of one ever got busted again, right? Like we’re gonna find that out and it’s gonna be a big moment of MK realizing he’s not Chaos but was created to stop it. Then it’s gonna be a “you can choose how to be, you don’t have to be what you were made” thing from SWK because MK goes super self sacrificing. Calling it now.

One of these days the end credits will change to MK.

Episode 4!! I’m probably gonna pause after this one to give me time to really soak in the season and watch some more tonight (I saw as if I’m not planning on rewatching this multiple times)

Decisions are not MK’s strong suit.

“Kid takes one how to write seminar and now he wound shut it with macguffins.”

Sandy sees MK getting overwhelmed and steps in!

“I love this new commanding Sandy” “didn’t know big blue had it in him” he’s been reading a self help book.

Sandy training! Mo standing guard!

Sandy training is therapy I hope

“Yeah that was a lie”

Have I mentioned Sandy is my favorite?

“Breadstick shoulders”

Sandy: MK you need therapy. Sit.

“I’ve got my trauma bottling process down pat!” That’s the problem MK

As someone who only recently started meditating, Sandy is actually explaining ways it’s helpful really well. So PSA that if you have anxiety, especially if it’s like mine and your mind continuously makes up scenarios that will never happen and you rarely feel yourself in the present because of it, try meditating! It can really help!

MK is also me.

Sandy MK bonding was not something I expected this season but it was something I wanted so badly!

MK that is not a demon that is just a snake (probably?)

Secrets tunnel!! Secret tunnel!!

Sandy’s little worried marker thing!!

Stone snake!!

Sandy looks so offended that the tortoise questioned MK’s worthiness.

“I am not ready for the test” “be here now” “but I don’t wanna!”

Sandy getting a hug until MK meditates

“Hey get off my Sandy!!”

Sandy being so supportive despite the circumstances!!!

Ooooh! MK vs Monkey MK in the mind!! Monkey MK taunting!!

“You like it” dang the voice acting for that line was nice!

MK going into monkey form to try and protect Sandy!!!!

“There’s parts of all of us we don’t like, but it’s always still us.” Sandy hitting with the deep quotes.

Still in monkey form!! With it controlled!!

Sandy angry for MK’s sake!!! “Was it enough? Was he WORTHY?!”

I’m pausing for a second because this episode is so far one of my favorites. It’s so good. I need a minute.

I want more backstory to Sandy.

“Pigsy always said you were this rage filled guy and…I just never believed it”

Mo is a good guard cat!

Mei destroyed the car this time!

I’m sorry Sandy, you deserve a lasting vehicle.

This episode is probably gonna sit next to Amnesia Rules as one of my favorites (I love Sandy too much guys)

[mothysmenagerie]

𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒕, 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌

Oooh I'm so happy my girl is home!!! For so long I wanted to try and shell my FFXIV warrior of light Akasha Kaioh in bjd form, but none of the sculpts I could find really fit my sweet viera gal. I grew attached to Dream Valley's Olivia to house her, but always held off because I wanted an SD size for Akasha. I would repeatedly tell myself "If they ever release an SD size similar to Olivia I'm gonna have to snatch her up" and WOULDN'T YOU KNOW what special edition doll they ended up releasing loool. 🐰👯‍♀️💖

She isn't perfect. Her wig still hasn't come yet (though this one is very nice. Elysian might steal it >:3) and my actual Akasha is MUCH darker than this (I will def need to look into doll dyeing at some point), but I just love her. Her little face is perfection and her bunny PEETS are to die for. I'm obsessed and want to spoil her so much. She'll be so happy when I preorder Alisaie and Alphinaud loool (I'll have to make her a G'raha too... And Estinien... And Haurchefant)!

[tainted-by-skeletons]

Reader X Sans X Grillby (Part One)

After a long week looking for jobs in Snowden, my friend Sans and I decided to spend a well deserved night at his favorite bar. Grillby's. The food was fine. It was your regular run of the mill diner food. But the reason Sans liked it was because he was really close with the owner, Grillby.

Grillby was a loner type. He was very quiet and polite. Despite the way he looked, he really did have a bad case of background character syndrome. Another thing about Grillby is that he's hot. In two ways. First, he's a fire elemental, and he's also… beautifully sculpted. As a human, I didn't find myself attracted to many other guys in the underground. Maybe Sans a little bit. But only in a “I'm drunk enough to hit that.” Kinda way.

“Hey. Come on. You said you wouldn't make it weird.”

Sans pulled me out of my thoughts suddenly. I was embarrassed to realize I was staring at Grillby.

“I'm sorry! I can't look though?”

“It's weird.”

Sans was a real wet blanket about certain things. But usually he's probably the most fun person to hang out with. He loves pranks, walking around, going out to eat and he's always down to hang out. Even if he's working.

“Fuckin’ hell. You think everything is weird. Come on dude. Lighten up. Let's get some drinks in you.”

“Heh. I bet you a hundred G that you'll get drunk before I do.”

“Oh yeah? Bet.”

A couple hours later we completely forgot about the bet. Sans was a really slow drinker and we wanted food first so it took us a while to even get tipsy. The worst part is that a couple people in the bar joined in on the drinking fest and they beat us by a long shot! It was just starting to turn into a bit of a party. Sans was a very fun drunk, but I had never seen him get drunk at Grillby's before.

“Hmmm… we should head back.”

“What. Does your ass bone hurt? Come on. It's only… uuuhhh.”

I looked around for a clock. While both Sans and I were turned, we didn't know what was happening behind us. Suddenly the bar erupted in a chorus of cheers. We looked around to find what everyone was so excited about. It seemed that Grillby was taking a shot. A couple in fact.

“Grillby no!”

But for some reason Sans was extremely against this. He hopped on top of one of the barstools and tried to take the last shot out of Grillby's hand. But after a couple drinks, Sans was much clumsier than usual. His hand slipped and his skull crashed onto the hard surface of the bar.

“Oooh! That's gotta hurt.” I reacted.

Grillby put down his shot and cradled Sans' head with his hands. I was just close enough to make out Grillby's concerned mumbles to Sans.

“Ooooh nooo~ My sweet boy. Did you hurt yourself?”

Did he just say sweet boy?! Oh my god. Grillby is a Daddy. Oh shit. I'm doomed. We really should get out of here. Besides, I don't want to have to watch Sans get all that attention from Grillby instead of me!

“Grillby. I'm fine. Let go of me. What is this?”

Sans batted Grillby's hands away and looked at the abandoned shot. He smelled it first, and immediately recoiled from the strong scent. Then he tasted a bit.

“Fuck! Grillbz! What is this!?”

Grillby was not aware of Sans' question. Still concerned about his slightly injured chin. Without a word, Grillby put one hand on Sans' cheek and the other on his chin. He carefully tilted Sans' head up to inspect him.

“A-aah! Knock it off.”

“Haha! What the hell happened to him Sans?” I laughed.

“Never let Grillby get drunk. He's gonna- ugggh. Do thith all night.” As Sans spoke Grillby's head lolled to the side as he pinched both Sans' cheeks and smiled at him. “And he usually keeps trying to drink if you ever take your eyes off him.”

“I don't see anything wrong with it. Heheh. Where's my phone?”

“Don't. Fucking. Think about it.”

“Hmmm. I guess you look okay. You don't sound hurt at least.” Grillby slurred as he pet the side of Sans' head.

“Ahhh. Stoop.” Sans tried to bat away Grillby's hand, but it only made the fire monster more determined.

“You're a bad boy.” Grillby reprimanded.

Sans' already big but narrow eyes suddenly became round and wide. “D-don't say that out loud!” He looked around anxiously to see if anyone heard.

The whole bar was already laughing. I actually felt bad for him. He seemed to be pretty humiliated by Grillby's sudden urge to dote on him. Sans hopped off his stool and went around the bar to where Grillby was. He started cleaning up the shots so I helped him by pushing them forward. After all, he was pretty short. I didn't want him to embarrass himself more.

“Awwww Saaaans. Why are you cleaning up? I wanted to drink with you.”

“You can drink when you learn how to handle your alcohol.”

“I think you're just embarrassed. Hmm~ I can fix that.”

Grillby came out from behind the bar and started insisting that everyone leave. Pretty much everyone agreed, with best wishes for Sans to “get some”.

“Y/N. Why are you leaviiing?” Grillby whined.

“Haha. I thought you wanted everyone to leave.”

“Well… mmn. I'm sure Sans won't mind if you stay.”

[deadbydangit]

Oooh, how about ribbon dancer s/o? She does shows for her partner and tries to teach them, even if they aren’t good at it.

I’d like Dwight, Huntress, and Artist

This is cute. I know little to nothing about ribbon dancing. So I'll do my best. Please enjoy.

With a Reader who does Ribbon Dancing

Dwight, Huntress, Artist

Dwight Fairfield

He's entranced.

Seeing you dance is memorizing.

You could've finished your performance ten minutes ago and he'll still be mouth open shocked.

He doesn't mean to be rude.

"That was... I mean... it's just..."

Speechless.

It's a compliment.

"You're just so amazing and beautiful and graceful and-"

Dwight will go on.

And on.

But let him.

You can offer to teach him.

But he will refuse.

"You look so amazing doing it, I would rather watch."

He actually thinks he'd be really bad at it.

And that would be true.

Dwight is... clumsy.

And pretty uncoordinated.

It often leaves you wondering how he's survived as long as he has.

He'll get the ribbon caught between his feet.

Under his arm.

And somehow in his glasses.

Don't be afraid to laugh a little.

He may be embarrassed, but he still thinks it's pretty funny.

If ribbon dancing means that much to you, he'll practice whenever he can to get at least decent at it.

Because getting to dance with you?

That makes it all worth it.

Huntress

She loves it!

Anna always claps at the end of every dance.

The ribbons are so pretty!

And you're so pretty!

She doesn't exactly know why you dance with ribbons.

But it's fun to watch and you look so beautiful doing it.

She's more interested in the ribbons themselves than the actual dancing part.

You could try and teach her.

But every time you try she somehow breaks the ribbons.

She whips them in the air too roughly.

Or she gets it caught on something and pulls too hard.

Agility wise, she's perfect.

All those years of learning to throw hatchets and surviving in the wild really helped.

She has some brutal strength though.

And she often forgets that.

She has frayed and ripped several of your ribbons.

And she'll cry after.

She ruined your pretty ribbons!

Assure her you aren't upset.

Since the ribbon part doesn't quite work with her, find a way to incorporate her into the dances without them.

You can have the ribbons and she can lift you up or help twirl you around.

It isn't exactly how ribbon dancing works, but she's having so much fun anyways.

You can't find it in your heart to take that from her.

Artist

As an artist, Carmina has explored a large array of different art forms.

Singing, sculpting, etc.

Including dance.

So, unlike others, she knows what it is you're doing.

Dancing wasn't her thing per say.

But it is certainly yours.

She adores watching you dance.

Seeing how graceful and beautiful you look inspires her.

She might get out an easel right then and there and start painting.

And she won't stop until she's finished the whole thing.

And she'll always show you after.

Sometimes, it's flowers in a meadow.

Other times, it's a lake.

Most of the time, it's you.

When you're dancing, you're her muse.

You can offer to teach her, but she can't physically hold onto the ribbons.

Her hands don't work like that anymore.

She can only paint because she's able to control the ink.

But don't let that stop you from dancing.

She's having a wonderful time watching and painting you.

[vodger]

Valentines (Kenjaku x Mahito)

Fluff. Literally just fluff.

I have never crossposted my fanfiction onto tumblr, but I figure in spirit of Valentine’s Day I may as well share it here too. Posted under the same title on AO3. Anyway, just some Valentine's Day fluff for the other 5 other Kenjaku/Mahito enjoyers out there. 💌

Dagon rolled with the ebb and flow of the current. He would submerge into the water now and again—as he always did. Any sound he may have made was drowned out by the lapping of the waves against the shore.

Kenjaku, too, was left to his devices and lounged in one of the lawnchairs, reading a magazine without a care. 

There was nothing in particular going on that day. Most of them had been out for the majority of the day, with the exception of Kenkaju and Dagon. Mahito had returned not long ago. Surprisingly, he hadn’t said hello, and instead quietly went and sat down on the sand not far from Kenjaku, facing toward the sea.

While always pleasant, the beach inside Horizon of The Captivating Skandha proved to be all the more rewarding during the winter. It was mid February, after all. Not that the colder weather made any difference to Mahito, weather elements hardly mattered to him–or to any of the other curses, really. But the sun always felt good.

Mahito lifted fistfuls of warm sand and watched it slip through his fingers.

“Geto, what’s Valentine’s Day?” He asked suddenly. “Hearing about that around?” He didn’t look up from his magazine. Mahito nodded but Kenjaku hadn’t seen it. “There’s a lot of people giving gifts. Treats. People seem happy,” Mahito said. “It vexes you, I’m sure.” “It does.”

Kenjaku lifted his head. “It’s when women give chocolates to the man they love.” “Oooh.” “And men reciprocate this on White Day.” “When’s that?” “A month later.”

Mahito mumbled meekly in thought. There was a moment’s peace before he shot up and twirled around.

“How ‘bout we do that?” He gleamed, lacing his hands together and teetering forward. “I’ll give you those chocolates.” “I didn’t think you’d want in on the fun.” Kenjaku replied casually. “Let’s do it.” Mahito urged. Kenjaku hummed sweetly, as if to consider it for a moment. “No.” Mahito’s hands fell and his posture drooped. “Why not?” He simply didn’t want to, but he didn’t say that. “Why would you like to celebrate a human holiday?” He proposed instead. “You’re not my keeper.” Mahito immediately deflected sullenly. Kenjaku snickered quietly enough that he couldn’t have heard.

Silence once again settled before it was again disrupted by Mahito. “Do you like chocolate?” “I do.” “Then I’ll get them for you.” “You needn’t.” Kenjaku didn’t need to see him to know he would have looked frustrated. Regardless, he stopped and peered at the curse, amused and satisfied. He looked back down and continued reading without so much as a word. Mahito watched him disappointedly before he spun back away from him and sank to the ground. He seemed to pout for a minute, hunched over. Then Kenjaku heard him hurl—sounding wet and vile like it usually did. Then he was fiddling something in his hands. Kenjaku could only wait in dreadful anticipation as to what kind of thing he was sculpting. He was working at it for a good while, which had at least allowed him to finish most of the magazine, skimming through all of the uninteresting bits. The distant fleshy and crackling sounds of Mahito’s construction finally came to a halt and Kenjaku listened to the kicking of sand as he approached and finally looked up as a shadow casted over him.

He extended a grotesque display of flowers in his hand. 

“As a token of our—” he paused and his eyes wandered to the side in thought. “Companionship.” He fixed his eyes back at Kenjaku and lightly shook the bouquet, beckoning him to take it. He accepted it and admired it with a gentle expression, but Mahito couldn’t tell if he was pleased or unimpressed. Though they were fleshy and slightly deformed, he could recognize the flower he tried to imitate. “Tsubaki?” He asked. Mahito nodded. “Do you like them?” he chimed. Kenjaku smiled smugly. “I suppose they are in season.” Mahito scrunched his nose in a slight glower.

Some of them bore a mouth on one of its pedals—they gasped and wheezed quietly. Kenjaku assumed he’d given them mouths to keep them alive. One of them had an eyeball right in the center where the pedals came together. It had no eyelids and was bloodshot. It darted around before pinning its gaze onto him. Even with it lacking a face entirely, he could see its anguish.

They were well crafted, he could admit. Though a little misshapen. He rotated the flowers in his hand for another moment in careful consideration. “I like them.” He finally answered. Mahito gave a small and hushed giggle. Kenjaku turned and gently placed the bouquet of flesh and bone onto the sand just beside the chair. “Aw,” Mahito whined. “You’re not gonna hold it?” Kenjaku sighed pleasantly in response and settled back.

Mahito briefly hesitated before he leapt onto the lawn chair, plopping right down on Kenjaku's thighs. The whole chair was jostled by it and Kenjaku tried his best to mask his irritation, but his shoulders sank with a heavy sigh nonetheless. Mahito timidly wriggled further up his lap and leaned forward.

“Kiss me.” “No.” “So cold! Even after that lovely gift I made you?”

There was a pause.

“You think I owe you a kiss for it?” “Is that not how it works?” He gawked at him, his eyes innocently darted about, taking in every part of Kenjaku’s face before meeting with his eyes again. Kenjaku only smiled back with that oddly serene and somehow demeaning grin of his. With no further reaction, Mahito lifted his hand and tapped his lips with his finger. “On the mouth,” he instructed. “Choosy.” They sat quietly before Mahito leaned in closer–uncomfortably close. Their noses almost touched. Almost. It stayed this way for a bit. Mahito eyed him expectantly and eagerly. Kenjaku stared unflinchingly at the curse directly in front of him which breathed against his skin.

Mahito tilted his head and slided forward ever-so-slightly. Kenjaku remained rigid before Mahito finally closed the sliver of distance between them.

Naturally, he wasn’t a good kisser, but Kenjaku nevertheless reciprocated. It was short, but alarmingly gentle and tender. Kenjaku softly broke away and Mahito moved in to try once more but he only calmly retreated further from him. Mahito eyed him, disappointed and flippant. He leaned back and seated himself back on Kenjaku’s legs, unsatiated. “All I’m gonna get?” “Yup.”

Huffy, he hopped off from his lap. Now free, Kenjaku rested his hands across his stomach and crossed his legs. Mahito took the lounge chair just next to him and laid across it, turning his back to him. He peered over his shoulder. “I’m looking forward to White Day,” he said. “You better get something nice for me.” “Of course,” he lied. Naturally, he wasn’t going to. But Mahito isn’t one to forget about these things, either.

[bluegekk0]

What type of modern toys would everyone like? For an example, I would think that fpk would like Legos.

You're absolutely right, FPK would love building Lego sets. I think he'd particularly like those huge and complex sets, he'd find the whole process incredibly relaxing. He could easily sit there for hours, especially if he has a snack on the side and some soothing music playing in the background. Aside from that, he's surprisingly good at Uno, he enjoys playing it with the rest of the family. He has some strategies that he thought out in his spare time, which are surprisingly effective, and he even frequently beats Grimm at it (who's probably the best in the house when it comes to any kinds of card and board games).

Grimm... Like I said, I think he'd enjoy card and board games, he'd like chess as well. He'd be the champion at Monopoly, but I think his favorite would be something like Jenga. He's good at concentrating and keeping his emotions in check, so he'll always enjoy activities that allow him to show those skills. But he also frequently joins FPK in his Lego building sessions, they love spending time in each other's company and building something together strengthens their bond even further. So that would be his second favorite toy/activity.

Hornet I imagine would enjoy collecting action figures/statues. She had to deal with a lot of loss throughout her life, so she suffers from attachment issues and the anxiety of losing her loved ones. Having a little collection she can always come back to would mean a lot to her I think, especially if each of the figures has a backstory of its own. And I imagine she'd simply enjoy the thrill of finding a particularly rare figure and adding it to her lineup. She wouldn't play with them, at most she'd just pose them so they don't just stand there, to give them a little bit of life.

Holly would enjoy anything related to craft, I could see them liking Legos but more from a creative standpoint - they'd get a bunch of pieces and build something small but unique from them, rather than follow instructions to create intricate building sets like FPK does. But what they would gravitate towards is something they can mold more. Oooh, maybe something like clay kits? So they could make little clay figures as gifts for others. I think they would enjoy that very much. And of course, anything related to drawing or sewing would also be to their liking, but that was already a given.

Zote would like any kind of toy weapons, particularly something like Nerf guns. He would enjoy collecting them and testing them against the others (particularly Hornet), and by the way he talks about them you'd think they're actual guns. He'd name every single one, too. I think he would share Hornet's interest in action figures as well, or just collecting in general, so they would have a common topic. But toy guns would definitely be something he gravitated towards, he'd love annoying others with them, sure, but I think he'd genuinely enjoy collecting and naming them. Not surprising seeing how he still keeps his old wooden sword and acts like it's a real deal.

Lewk's favorite kind of toys would be the ones that require physical activity. He has a lot of energy and so anything that tires him out would be a perfect toy for him. Any kinds of balls he can throw and kick, trampolines, little scooter boards and so on. But he enjoys spending time with others so he would be interested in pretty much all kinds of toys. He'd join FPK and Grimm in Lego building, or Holly with clay sculpting and drawing. He would challenge Zote to Nerf gun fights (and probably win), and ask Hornet about her collection. Running around checking what others do is a physical activity on its own so it would be part of the fun for him.

For Asta and Milo, any kinds of toys that help with developing motor skills would be great, especially for Asta since she's the more active of the two. She would LOVE chewing toys, since they're both teething, she has the urge to chew on everything, from Grimm's fingers to Lewk's tail and Zote's cloak. So anything she can safely chew on would be great for her. Milo has a similar problem, so a chew toy would be good for him as well, though he's noticeably more gentle when nibbling on things. While Asta gravitates towards more physically driven toys, Milo prefers to sit back and rest, and so naturally he has a big fondness for stuffed toys that he can cuddle.

[legobiwan]

My brain is currently stuck on the idea of Dooku as a conductor. Was at rehearsal and the director was conducting with a baton and the other hand behind his back, and naturally my brain went IT'S MAKASHI. And THEN he did the, you know, "GIVE ME MORE CRESCENDO" gesture (we were playing the chorale part of Jupiter, you know the bit) that kind of looks like a Sith trying to use the Force to deconstruct your organs. Anyways! Thought that might give you a kick <3

AHAHAHAH I CACKCLED, ANON

He would so be a conductor. I've had plenty of music directors who would have loved to arrange my orchestra's internal organs with a single gesture. (oooh the stories I could tell, many of them true! to quote Hondo Ohnaka)

Dooku has the pretension and the artistic eye and ear to sculpt an ensemble to his vision. He has the civility to hobnob with rich benefactors. He has the temper and linguistic skills to swear at the entire ensemble in at least 3 different languages when something goes wrong during the Mon Calamari opera dress rehearsal (don't ask me how I know about these things). He would definitely find a handful of "chosen ones" to deign with his goodwill within the ensemble. He would be incredibly exacting in rehearsal. (And probably a bit petty and tyrannical (see what I did there?) - not uncommon traits among many of higher echelon conductors in the business, although it's slowly improving).

But anyway - it 100% tracks.

Also, Jupiter is a banger. Although I personally prefer the Mars and Neptune movements of The Planets.

[xoshepard]

And 33, 35, 37 and 39 for Orion!!

oooh thank you!!! i love your shepards and your art by the way!!! <33

33. What skills do they have that are a surprise to the people around them?

he enjoys sketching buildings/cityscapes, especially when he gets to visit the citadel or other species' homeworlds. he was a spacer, so even earth is fascinating to him. it always surprises people to see how detailed and accurate his drawings are.

35. Which companions have they lost? How do they cope with it?

i assume this means in canon i.e. virmire/suicide mission? he chose kaidan on virmire because of rank, but he takes ash's loss extremely hard because he feels like he robbed her of her chance to redeem her family. he struggles with her death for a long time, because he knows the pressure of being part of an alliance family.

37. Got any bad habits?

haven't thought much about this but i'm thinking avoidant behavior and a past history of nail-biting dskjfhsdjk

39. Do they keep around any sentimental items?

not at first but after the sr-1 gets destroyed he keeps his old dog tags to keep him connected to the alliance while he works with cerberus (he was a sole survivor so me2 is like rock bottom for him) and to remind him that just because he's survived some scrapes with death, it doesn't mean he always will

18. Who’s the dream team? Which companions does Shepard fight best with and why?

for audrey, people that can get up into the fray while she hangs back and snipes/gives orders are the best. she usually takes one biotic and one high-damage squadmate, so like wrex and liara would have been a good team for her in me1

28. What about hyperfixations? What’s the topic that will get Shepard rolling no matter the person or place

hyperfixations: when she gets starts on a jewelry/sculpting project she can get very consumed by it. when she gets materials for tinkering she tends to keep to her cabin until she's made something. for the second part, she doesn't laugh a lot unless she's comfortable with the people around, but on the other hand it's really easy to make her laugh if she is comfortable with you. she likes her squadmates' senses of humor.

38. Does Shepard do any activities with the companions and crew during downtime?

it depends. she's more introverted, but she tries to organize gatherings so that her team can do teambuilding and she understands how important it is for the squad and crew to see her face and interact directly with her. it does make her tired, though, so she needs to decompress after

48. What abilities do they rely on the most in a fight?

she relies heavily on her sniper rifle and tactical cloak

5. How well does Shepard know their crew? Not just the companions, but the folks making up the Normandy

she knows everyone pretty well bc she's personable and outgoing. some people take a while to warm up to her because of her history and she's very unrefined, especially for an officer, but most people eventually see that she's loyal and cares about them, even if they don't always agree with her demeanor or choices

15. What colors does Shepard prefer for their armor?

black and red, classic

25. How emotionally articulate is your Shepard? Do they emote well?

evanna is not the great at expressing emotions that aren't anger or joy. anything more complex than those two will usually see them at the bar

35. Which companions have they lost? How do they cope with it?

they sacrificed kaidan on virmire, but at the end of the day that sacrifice is kinda overshadowed by her history on earth, where she was forced to kill her own teammates. she carries kaidan's death with her, but she doesn't really blame herself so much as she wishes it didn't have to be that way and kinda like. blames fate/god/the universe.