#shiny...............smooth..................

[ninisdollie]

more boyfriend Ni-ki with his hyperfemenine gf thoughts (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

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Your boyfriend Ni-ki pretends to judge you for spending so much money in makeup, telling you that you need to save or spend it in something that really worths it, but at the end of the day, he sits through every one of your Sephora unboxings like he’s your assistant. He’ll lay on your pink sheets, black hoodie cap over his messy hair, watching you with a half-lidded gaze as you peel the bubble wrap off your sixth gloss of the week like it’s a treasure. He’ll say things like, “Another one?” or “25 dollars for a gloss is insane” with the driest voice, eyes lazy as he’s sooo bored, but when you flute your eyelashes at him, small smile on your plumped lips, he’s the first to hold out his arm when you start testing swatches.

He lets you paint his entire forearm with shimmer eyeshadows and bronzers and cherry red blushes, grumbling under his breath warning you to not tell the boys later. He even holds still while you paint his thick lips with a shiny, sheer pink gloss, and even smacks his lips together like he’s on a get ready with me video. 

“It’s sweet” he shrugs “Suits you better” and then he kisses you, soft and messy at the same time, the gloss falls from your hand as you kiss him back and fall on your back on the mattress. 

Then a few days later, when you’re stressed because you can’t find your new strawberry lip balm and ask him if he’s seen it, he doesn’t even blink. “What? You have like ten of those” 

“You literally stole it. It’s mine!” he just looks at you, so nonchalant, and goes, “Yeah, but it makes my lips soft. Plus… it smells like you.”

You ended up finding it on his desk. Not tucked away or hidden, just lying there like it belongs next to his wallet and keys. Like he didn’t swiped it from your vanity and started using it like it was his all along.

Ni-ki used to groan every time you said “Just ten more minutes” before a date. He would lean against your bedroom doorframe with his arms crossed and a dramatic sigh, saying things like “How are you not done yet?” Or “It looks good, I’m hungry” But instead of actually getting mad, he started watching you. Watching how your hands moved when you did your eyeliner. How your lip combo needed to be layered just right. How you curled your hair in sections and flipped the ends out naturally. 

And one day, he just… asked. “Which one makes it wavy?” You paused, mascara wand mid-air, staring at him. “You wanna help me get ready?” “I wanna help you get faster,” he said flatly. But you saw the little spark in his eyes.

So you handed him your curling iron.

Your boyfriend Ni-ki watched one tutorial on YouTube from a beauty blogger, and then practiced on a doll head you had from your childhood “just for fun,” but secretly he wanted to get it perfect for you. He learned to section your hair, to twist and hold, to use the glove so he wouldn’t burn his fingers, though he totally did once and blamed you for distracting him by being “too pretty.”

He now stands behind you while you sit on your vanity and do your makeup, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he wraps a strand of your hair around the barrel. You’ll be focusing on your eyeliner and hear the soft click of the iron turning off, then his voice: “Next section.” Sometimes he clips your hair back with one of your frilly pink claw clips, totally unfazed by how cute and domestic he looks doing it. Other times, he hums Enhypen songs under his breath while working, casually asking, “Big curls or soft waves today?”

To be fair, he still says, “You take forever to get ready,” but now it’s while he's smoothing a section of your hair down and checking the back with his phone camera to make sure it’s even.

Ni-ki is one of the most dry texters in the world, but you don’t care that much, because when he’s on tour, he doesn’t say “I miss you” too much, but always comes back with something for you tucked in his bag.

Not big things. Not the kind of gifts meant to impress or flex. But cute things. Thoughtful things. Things that say “I saw this and thought of you” in the quietest way. Like the time he was in Japan, and you sent him a half-joking, half-serious message at 2 a.m. that just said, “Bring me back something My Melody or I’m breaking up with you.” But forgot about it immediately, he didn’t. 

He came home with a little box wrapped in pink tissue paper, handed it to you without a word, and inside were three keychains—Hello Kitty, My Melody, and Kuromi—each one in a tiny outfit matching the city he’d been in. There was also a fluffy pouch with sparkly zippers and a note in his handwriting with pink pen that just said, “Don’t break up with me.”

Or the time that he went to Milan for the fashion week and rolled his eyes when you told him to buy you something expensive. But when he came back, he handed you a pink Prada purse and a silk scarf with little hearts woven into the trim. 

“This reminded me of you. The memory was prettier tho” You punched his arm and he kissed your cheek.

He’s too cool to gush but always notices. Always remembers. He never forgets that you love sparkly keychains and girly pouches and lip balms shaped like desserts. And even when he’s thousands of miles away, he walks through each airport, each city street, each backstage area wondering what tiny, soft thing he can bring back to make you smile. And when you tease him, “You miss me that bad, huh?” He’ll just click his tongue, toss a plushie onto your lap, and mutter, “Shut up. It was cute. And you like cute things.”

Your boyfriend Ni-ki pretends to be soo bored when you push him into your bedroom to try on new clothes. He flops onto your bed like he’s been inconvenienced for the millionth time, phone in hand, legs crossed at the ankle, but the truth is? He lives for this. For the way you light up when you’re in front of your closet. For the way you model outfits for him like you’re on a runway made of pink carpet and perfume mist. He barely looks up when you walk out in the first dress, just gives a quick glance and hums, “Cute.”

But by the third outfit, when the top dips a little lower and your shorts hug a little tighter, he suddenly forgets how to breathe normally. You know what you’re doing. You twirl slowly, hands on your hips, acting innocent. “Too short?” you ask, lifting the hem just slightly to adjust it. He sits up straighter. “You’re trying to start something.” You just flutter you eyelashes. “I’m just trying on clothes.” 

Ni-ki is so whipped for you that he starts biting his lip by the fourth outfit. You come out in a little skirt with bows on the sides and a cropped cardigan that’s one button away from scandal, and he’s already shoving his phone into the sheets and leaning back like he’s trying to stay calm.“Babe,” he warns, voice low, “what is this, a fashion show or a test of my self-control?” You smirk. “Depends. How am I doing?” He drags a hand down his face. “Terribly.” 

He breaks the second you spin around in front of the mirror and bend a little too far while adjusting the neckline, the skirt showing the perfect curve of your ass. He’s behind you before you even realize he moved, hands sliding around your waist, lips brushing your ear.

“You know I’m not gonna sit there like a good boy when you parade around looking like that.” Your outfit ends up on the floor. He never gives his opinion. You both forget you were even getting ready.

Your boyfriend Ni-ki doesn’t just say “You’re pretty” when you’re writhing under him, he says it like a prayer, like it hurts him how pretty you are.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” “Look at you… look how perfect you are for me.” “Made just for me, huh? That’s it, baby—show me.”

His voice never raises. It stays soft, reverent, like he’s telling you a secret that only the two of you should know. Even when he’s breathless. Even when he’s deep inside you, thumb brushing your bottom lip while he watches your eyes flutter and roll.

“Such a good girl for me… always take me so well.” “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” “You make me lose my mind, princess. Fuck—look at the mess you’re making.”

He says the filthiest things while holding your jaw so gently, like he’s cradling something delicate and priceless.

“You’re dripping just from my voice, aren’t you? You like when I talk to you like this.” “You want me to make it worse? Want me to ruin this little body while I tell you how much I love it?”

Because he does love it. Every inch of you. And he says it, over and over, between kisses and thrusts and choked moans.

“I love you so much, baby. So fucking much.” “No one’s ever gonna touch you like this. No one’s ever gonna talk to you like this.” “You’re mine. Say it. Say it again.”

He gets off on your pleasure more than anything. The sound of your voice, the way your fingers curl in his hair, the little gasps you make when he presses deeper.

“That’s it, my pretty girl… you gonna come for me?” “I want you to fall apart, yeah? Be good and make a mess for me.”

And when you do, when your voice breaks and your body trembles and you cling to him like he’s the only thing anchoring you to this earth, he kisses you everywhere he can reach. Your cheek. Your shoulder. Your chest. The side of your neck.

“You’re okay, baby. I got you.” “You’re my princess. My everything.” 

And when he finishes, he doesn’t just roll over and catch his breath after, t’s like the second you fall apart, he pulls himself back together just to take care of you. Because he knows.

He knows that after you finish, your voice goes quiet. Your fingers reach for him, searching without words. You blink slower, lips parted, too overwhelmed to speak. And he knows that’s when you need softness the most. So he gathers you up. Instantly.

Ni-ki wraps his arms around your trembling frame and pulls you into his chest, skin to skin, his hand cradling the back of your head like he’s shielding you from the world. “Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re okay.” He kisses your temple, your eyelids, your damp hair, even the tip of your nose, like he needs to cover every part of you in warmth. In reassurance. He speaks softly, over and over, even when you’re too tired to respond.

“I’ve got you.” “You’re so perfect for me.” “Still with me, pretty girl?�� “I love you. You’re my everything.”

His fingers draw lazy shapes on your back, his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets. When he feels you start to drift, he kisses your shoulder and tightens his hold. “Don’t disappear yet,” he whispers, teasing but gentle.

And when you finally look up at him with hazy, fluttering eyes and a sleepy pout, he smiles like it physically hurts how much he loves you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and presses his forehead to yours. “Still my princess,” he murmurs, voice low, “even when you’re all messy and dazed like this.”

Boyfriend Ni-ki, who gets up just to grab a warm cloth and clean you softly, slowly, never rushing, like he’s touching something sacred. Then helps you into his hoodie, kisses your cheek, and pulls you back into bed with a quiet “Come here, need you close.”

Because he knows you go small after. And there’s nowhere safer to be small than wrapped in him.

[swordshapedleaves]

The Pigeon King!

Spotting the pigeon that best meets a bunch of criteria and then bowing to it is a game I made up and my family and I play when loitering or waiting in the presence of pigeons.

The Pigeon King is big, has all its toes, smooth shiny feathers, and classic bands on the wings, no speckles. When you find and agree on the Pigeon King, you bow to it and say "Your Majesty!"

I think the fattest wild pigeon in a given city should be venerated as a sort of civic deity.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Actinopterygii - Clupeiformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Order: Clupeiformes

Common Name: no common name for the whole order, variously called “herrings”, “sprats”, and “shads”

Families: 10 - Denticipitidae (“Denticle Herring”), Spratelloididae (“round herrings”), Engraulidae (“anchovies”), Clupeidae (“herrings”, “Pacific Menhaden”, and “sprats”), Chirocentridae (“wolf-herrings”), Dussumieriidae (“rainbow sardines” and “round herrings”), Pristigasteridae (“longfin herrings”), Ehiravidae (“river sprats”), Alosidae (“shads”), and Dorosomatidae (“sardinellas”, “gizzard shads”, “Smooth-belly Pellonuline”, “white sardines”, and kin)

Anatomy: generally silvery, streamlined, spindle-shaped bodies; most filter plankton from the water with gill rakers; gas bladder has a pneumatic duct connecting it to the gut; typically lack a lateral line

Diet: mainly plankton, some eat smaller fish

Habitat/Range: in oceans worldwide; some anchovies will enter brackish water and some are restricted to fresh water

Evolved in: Early Cretaceous

Propaganda under the cut:

The Clupeiformes are some of the most important food fish, both for larger fish, birds, mammals, and for humans, who will also use them as bait. As small schooling fish, many are known for making “bait balls” (see gif above) when threatened, where the fish will swarm in a tightly packed sphere to seem larger and protect themselves, as lone individuals are more likely to be eaten than an individual in a large group. Bait balls are short-lived and seldom last longer than 10 minutes. Some predators have developed sophisticated countermeasures to bait balls, which can seriously undermine the defensive value of a bait ball. Some predators will work together to herd the fish into a ball before striking them all together, and humans will use nets to catch the entire school.

The Denticle Herring (Denticeps clupeoides), the only member of its family, in known for its array of denticle-like scales under the head, which give it almost a furry appearance

The Peruvian Anchoveta (Engraulis ringens) is one of the most commercially important fish species in the world, with annual harvests varying between 3.14 and 8.32 million tonnes. The top yield was 13.1 million tonnes in 1971, but has undergone great fluctuations over time. Canned Anchovetas are sometimes marketed with the culinary name "Peruvian Sardines" to promote domestic and international consumption, as sardines are usually in higher demand. Only 1% of Anchoveta catches are used for direct human consumption, while 99% are rendered into fishmeal and oil. The Anchoveta has been characterised as "the most heavily exploited fish in world history". After the population has been greatly reduced by overfishing and El Niño events, smaller quotas have been placed on Anchoveta fisheries.

The strong taste people associate with anchovies is due to the curing process, as they are salted in brine and packed in oil and salt.

As with all filter feeders, Clupeidae (“herrings” and “sprats”) cannot take in food if nutrient rich water does not pass over their gills. To moderate this, members of this family have been found to increase their swimming speed when they sense that there is a high concentration of food items in order to take advantage of the feeding period.

Both species of wolf-herring (genus Chirocentrus) have elongated jaws with long sharp teeth that aid their ravenous appetites, primarily for other fish. The Whitefin Wolf-herring (Chirocentrus nudus) is also known to crunch on crabs, in addition to its usual diet of smaller fish.

The Rainbow Sardine (Dussumieria acuta) is iridescent blue with a bit of shiny gold or brass line below, but these brilliant colors quickly fade after death.

The American Shad (Alosa sapidissima) has been described as "the fish that fed the (American) nation's founders".

The Pokémon Wishiwashi is based on the Pacific Sardine (Sardinops sagax ocellatus), and can turn into a “school form” made up of hundreds of other Wishiwashi when it enters battle. The School Form resembles a larger fish and is based off of a bait ball.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎPretty Things౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x clark kent thank you my darling @phantomamour for proofing <3

It was early when your alarm went off, waking both you and Clark. He’d started to sit up but you smoothed his hair and whispered for him to go back to sleep. He was confused for a moment before remembering you had an early shoot, the reason you’d gone to bed so early last night. He reluctantly unwound his arms from around you, letting you get up and watching your silhouette stretch in the dark. Your pink silk pajama set was little, edged in lace. He loved to trace the pattern of the delicate lining, feeling your skin underneath. 

Clark watched with heavy eyes as you padded around the room, turning the bathroom light on and giving him a better view. You flipped through your dresses in the closet, pulling out one of his favorites. Pink, of course, short, but surprisingly comfortable, or so you’d said. He knew you liked to wear pretty outfits to shoots even though you knew you’d be changing anyways. It helped you get in the mood, gain the confidence you needed for a long day on set.

“Pretty,” he called as you put your dress and shoes on. Clark was still tired, but he didn’t want to fall back asleep before you left. You threw him a smile, and he watched through the open bathroom door as you threw your hair back into a ponytail, leaving your face makeup free.

You gathered your purse and keys, leaning down over the bed to kiss him once. He smiled lazily, holding your hand and whispering, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated, thumbing his cheek before pulling back to leave. The sun wasn’t up yet, so after you switched off the bathroom light he could only watch your shadow go. He rolled over into your spot the way he did every time you left before him and buried his face in your pillow. You were scheduled until two today and he’d putter around the apartment until then, or maybe drag himself out of the house. The city had been relatively safe lately so his hours as Superman had lessened. Now he selfishly wished for something to come up so he could fill the hours with something besides keeping himself from flying over to your shoot.

He eventually got up and showered, sluggishly sitting down at his laptop afterwards to try and get ahead on some work. Foolishly, he’d forgotten your shoot and gotten to finish everything yesterday with the intent that he’d be able to spend the whole day with you. No matter, he’d order in some of your favorites and cuddle you for the rest of the night the way you loved after long days. 

While your job didn’t require you to go in every day the way his did, it was equally, often more demanding. It wasn’t just a source of money- it was a lifestyle. You had to keep your body in shape and maintain a healthy weight and be on call for when you booked jobs. Sometimes it required you to fly out of the city. You’d had jobs in London and Paris before, and he’d pined for you during each. He’d faithfully dropped you off and picked you up each time, determined to be a supportive boyfriend.

You called him around noon, propping your phone up in a dressing room. He was laying sideways on the couch, sweatpants on, smile sparking up when he saw you pop up on the screen. Your hair was blown out into curls, makeup shiny with glitter speckled over your eyelids and cheeks. The green dress you were wearing was made of tulle and the neckline dipped deep. 

“You look pretty,” he said, adjusting the phone where it was propped up on the couch cushion.

Giggling, you hid your face in your hands, careful not to smear your makeup. “I feel so silly. The shoot is kind of a magical fairy theme.”

“Is it for a magazine?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, playing with a strand of your hair.

“Did you see the lunch I packed you in the fridge?”

Reaching behind the phone, you held up the bag of carrot sticks he’d put in. With the other hand, you showed him the sticky note he’d left inside last night. ‘Have a good day! I love you!’ “I ate some of it already.”

“Good.” He traced the frame of his phone. “I miss you.”

“Aww, sweetheart.” You kissed your finger and waved it at him. “I’ll be home soon, alright?”

“Okay.” His lips turned down playfully. “I wanna fly over.”

“I know, I know,” you cooed, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Can we order pizza tonight? And garlic bread?”

“Of course,” he said immediately, sitting up. “I’ll order as soon as you come home.”

“Okay.” You looked behind you and he heard a crackly voice through the phone. “I’m getting called back. I’ll see you later.”

“Alright,” he said reluctantly. “Alright. I’ll see you later, baby. I love you.”

“I love you,” you said, blowing a kiss. He pretended to catch it, smiling softly. Clark tossed his phone on the coffee table and rolled over to lay on his back on the couch, wondering how he’d get through another three hours without you.

It was half past four. 

Clark had finished an assignment, submitted a file, and started on something that wasn’t due for two weeks. He’d picked up around the living room and straightened the bathroom and folded the laundry. You hadn’t texted to say your shoot was done, which was something he’d come to expect. He was perched on the couch, the number of the pizza place dialed on his phone and ready to hit call the second you let him know.

His knee started to bounce up and down. Maybe it was his restlessness that made the time inch by like a slow caterpillar; he hadn’t heard a single call for help today. There was an itchy feeling irking at him but he assumed it was just worry over you. Long photoshoots tended to take a toll on you, and he was happy you both had the day off tomorrow for additional rest. Life would be lucky if he got out of bed for anything other than to serve you meals in it.

When the clock struck five, he stood up, worry reaching a peak. Would it hurt to fly around for a few minutes, make sure you weren’t cornered in an alley somewhere? Maybe offer to escort you home as Superman and climb in through the window a few minutes later?

Before he knew it he was stripping out of his clothes, tossing his sweats and t-shirt on the couch and seizing his suit from its hiding place. He snuck out the window and bolted to hover over the streets, hawk’s eye searching the streets below. All seemed well, or as well as a chaotic big city could be. Just the same steady stream of people fighting the flow and disrupting the beat in a way that made the symphony of Metropolis come together. 

It was so different than where he grew up. Smallville was quiet and relatively safe. When he’d moved to the city he’d spent a full day trying to get used to the sheer amount of noise. His ears had grown immune but his heart hadn’t. More people meant more troubles to be had. Some he could help with and some he couldn’t.

Clark made his way to the location of the shoot, landing on the rooftop and looking over the parking lot. Hardly any cars. No models smoking outside or exiting arm in arm. The doors clicked open and a crew of men with bags over their shoulders walked out, chatting aimlessly. One was holding a camera, squinting at the screen as he walked.

It was obvious the shoot had wrapped. Pulling out his phone, Clark checked for any missed calls or messages in response to the dozens he’d sent your way earlier. None. His brow pinched, and he sat down, tucking the phone away and  massaging his palm over his forehead. Worry was morphing into panic now as he searched his mind for anywhere you could be. It wasn’t unusual for shoots to go over, but usually you would sneak in a text to let him know. And you wouldn’t have stopped to grab food with any of the other girls since you’d said you wanted to eat with him. In his mind he thought he sounded possessive but this was too unusual to be nothing.

“Where are you baby?” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting himself just listen. If he could stay still and think maybe there’d be a sign. It was better than what he had to go off now, which was absolutely nothing.

Lowering his head to his knees, Clark breathed in and out, letting his ears do the rest of the work. The hum of the city blurred everything out at first, but the longer he listened the better he could single things out. There was only one sound his ears sought out, something he was drawn to the way magnets met in the middle. Your heartbeat was the best thing he lived for.

There was a faint thrumming like the beginning of a song, then a steady pulsing that made everything else go quiet. Clark began to focus in on it, letting the noise drip down from his head to his feet. It sounded so distinctly like you the longer he listened. You were alive. That much he knew.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, letting the sound stick. He kept his movements slow as he stood and rested his hands on the ledge of the roof, breathing steadily. Your heart was still there. It was all he needed.

The sound led him to a dark building that looked to him like a warehouse. He swallowed as he approached it, back against the wall, feet creeping closer to the back door. Your pulse wasn’t the only thing he could hear. Crying echoed off the walls of the inside and bounced back to break his heart.

Sneaking closer, Clark listened to the other voices. Low, hardened, definitely up to no good. Anyone who could steal such a sweetheart away for no reason couldn’t be. It boiled his blood, giving him more reason for vengeance than any other crime. They had scared you, maybe even hurt you, and he wasn’t going to let it pass.

Often in a fight Clark’s memory of his sense would go blurry, and all he’d be left with was the knowledge of what he’d done. Meditating on it, he thought it was his body and mind’s way of protecting him. This was what happened as he charged through the door, defeating the lookout behind it and barreling into the next few that dared challenge him. 

Sometimes he wondered why he’d been chosen for this fate, one of powers and strength beyond understanding. Now he was grateful for it as he pummeled the group who’d dared take you away. The five men laid at his feet atop each other would be found by the local police later. He was more worried about you.

The warehouse was dark, and based on the room he was in, limited in space. He whipped the door open to the next room, equal parts relieved and horrified when he found you with your hands and ankles tied together slumped against the wall. Your makeup was a mess, smudged against your cheeks, and it felt like a fist had hit his chest when he saw the bleeding at your collarbone, soaking through the adorable pink dress you’d looked so pretty in this morning.

“Sweetheart,” Clark breathed, rushing to your side. His fingers were shaking but he managed to untie the ropes that held your limbs together. You whimpered, arms shooting out to wrap around his neck as soon as they were free. He cradled you close, rocking back and forth. “Shh, shh. I’ve got you, honey. I know it’s scary but I’ve got you now.”

“W-wanna go ho-ome,” you sobbed, sniffling into the front of his suit.

“We’ve gotta get this looked at first,” he whispered, hovering one hand over your upper chest. “Really quick, okay? I’ll drop you off and come back in, alright? I’ll be right there with you the whole time and then we can go home.” Clark tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “We’ll still order pizza and we’ll get lots of blankets and we’ll lay down on the couch together. But we’ve gotta make sure you’re okay first.” Your nod was little, but it was enough. The hospital wasn’t too far away, and he’d make sure to be extra careful as he flew you there. The emergency room was good with the ones he brought to them, and he knew they’d get you checked out in no time.

Clark lifted you into his arms and made sure your head was leaning against his chest as he began to walk you out. Your grip around his neck was enough for him to be sure you were going to be okay.

It was the middle of the night when you bolted upright, a scream ripping itself from your throat. Clark lunged up beside you in an instant, his arms finding you once more. You were whimpering, shivering in the after effects of your nightmare.

“Sweetheart, you're okay. You’re safe,” he whispered, gathering you into him and rocking you back and forth. “I’ve got you, baby.” He still didn’t have very many details about what had happened. Still, he did know you had been taken on the way home from work, and that you had been tied up and essentially tortured in that warehouse. There was a long, jagged mark on your chest below your collarbone that the doctors said would heal, but leave a scar of some kind.

“They’re…th-they’re coming for m-me,” you stammered, and he shook his head, kissing the top of your head. 

“Nobody’s coming,” he promised. “I won’t let them. You’re safe now.”

A tiny sob echoed across the room. Clark let you bury your face in his chest, burrowing between his legs and curling into a ball. He’d let you do anything you needed to feel better. He cocooned you into him and brought the blanket to wrap around your shoulders. 

You were touching the space under your collarbone where he knew your scar was, and it sent a jolt through his heart. You’d already cried to him about how badly it could damage your career and he assured you it would be okay. He hoped badly that he was right.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Clark repeated, starting to rock you back and forth. “My brave, brave girl. You did so good today.”

“I m-missed our pizza night,” you sniffled, and he smiled into your hair.

“We’ll just move it to tomorrow,” he promised, stroking your hair. “We’re gonna watch movies all day and relax and be with each other.”

“What if s-someone needs you?”

“Then you’ll take a nap and I’ll wrap it up as fast as I can,” Clark whispered. He settled a hand on your back and rubbed up and down gently. You started to relax again and he smiled as you reached up to smooth his hair, pushing it from his forehead. The motion seemed to calm you, so he held perfectly still. His eyes never left your face.

You traced the backs of your nails down his cheek. “I love the way you look at me.” Though your voice was soft, he hung onto every word. “You can shoot lasers from your eyes but you do basically the same thing when you look at me. Love lasers.”

“Love lasers.” He chuckled, hugging you close. “Yeah, that’s about what it is.”

The night, which had before been so clouded with fear and guilt was now a special place where you both were safe to be together, to love each other when things were hard. Endless strength and power was nothing if it couldn’t keep you safe, and from now on that was the only thing it would do. Come tide and time, nothing like this would ever happen to you again.

[dulcecherub]

All I Can Say

Warnings: some nsfw, mdni

Authors note: I had this in my draft for weeks. Finally decided to finish and post it.

S4! Rafe x Sofia

All I can say/ is that you belong to me/ and a dreamer should dream

Sofia ran a finger down Rafe’s face, admiring how smooth it was. No sign of his facial hair present. She missed when he wouldn’t shave, letting her face rub against his when it wasn’t fully shaven yet. He’d laugh, seeming to enjoy her affections. She grin up at him brightly. Enjoying the smile that etched onto his face. One she had crafted, as if she molded it in between her fingers.

They lay together on his bed. Her legs tangled with his. She felt so at bliss just being able to be here with him like this. So peaceful, just the two of them. He finally looks up at her once he noticed her hand starting to caress his face.

“What?” He said, almost shyly. She knew that was the side of him only she got to see. Almost as if he was surprised she was extending love his way. Her love. —She loved how easily he ate it up. She wanted to press it into his fingers like flowers pressed onto a page. Remind him of her love. Her eternal love.

“You’re so pretty.” She said, soft as cashmere and silk. His expression softened.

“You think I’m pretty?” He teased. His eyes roaming her face, mimicking the way she was looking at him. His lips curling into a smile, his eyes gleaming.

“Of course you are.”

“Says the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He says, leaning his face to hers. She blushed, a gentle smile touching her lips.

“Shut up.” She pushed his head away, she can feel his laugh vibrating against the palm of her hand; as he laughs into it.

“My pretty girl.” He leaned towards her once her hand is no longer in the way. Pressing kisses on her neck, on her cheeks. Down to her collarbone. She leans in, letting him. She would give herself whole, be his entirely.

“My—” He kisses her neck, “Pretty—” He kisses the edge of her breast, “Girl—” He pushes down her bra so he could get better access to her breast. His mouth engulfing her bud.

She squeals.

“Rafe!” He chuckles against her breast, he lets go with a wet pop. Stares at her from behind his lashes. His lips wet, shiny from his own saliva. His lips a bright pink now from how swollen they’d gotten.

“You’re something else.” She murmurs as she strokes his temple.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She kisses his nose, his hand reaching up to cup her breast now. His eyes shining as he continues to stare into her eyes. Sofia shakes her head, a small grin spreading onto her lips like jam spreading on toast.

“You know, if you’re just here to fuck—”

He scoffs, “Can’t a man just admire his girl.” He lets go of her breast, his eyes searching her face.

“Oh? Your girl, huh?”

“Yeah, my girl.”

His eyes zero in on her lips, he licks his own. He reaches over, panting soft kisses against her lips. His hand resting onto her cheek, deepening the kiss. His body moving to cover hers. One of his hands cupping her breast once again.

“You’re so annoying.” She murmurs against his lips as he laughs.

“Can’t help it.” He continues to kiss her, “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers.

She smiles against his lips as they continue to kiss. His hands reaching into her skirt. As her hands reach for his shirt.

Her heart swelled, was this what it was like to fall for someone. So wholeheartedly and deeply. Her heart felt like it was beating for him. For once, it felt good to just relax. Let go. And he allowed that space for her too. She felt safe in his arms. Felt so cared for.

His whole body covering her now, her clothes slowly discarded from her body. His half way off, she never felt more at home.

[isuggestcarcinization]

Daily Affrimations!

My carapace is smooth and shiny

My claws are big and meaty

My ass is fat

All will evolve to be hot and sexy (like me) (am crab)

Im a fuckinggg snacccc

Daily affirmations

I am a freak and that is ok

Anyone who hates on me for my writing has never picked up a pencil in their life

I should be more self indulgent

My characters should suffer more

[jaythewriter]

Here is a snippet of the Remmix x Burlesque reader fic, don't mind the bad grammar I gotta fix it later

You couldn't belive your ears when you heard ya cousins s back from the war. He'll you didn't even believe it when you heard their voices from the other side of the door. "We's ain't seens ya in a while!” You knew Stacks smug ass voice anywhere. With a small huff you opened the door. “Yeah, yeah whatcha want!” You grumbled leaning against your door frame in you slip with a glass of rich wine in your hand.

“Watch yo tone lil girl.” Smoke chimed in as they practically pushed past you to get in. “We got an opportunity for ya. We heard that you were an inspiring burlesque and since we openin up a juke joint we want you and Preacher boy at the joint tonight.” Smoke spoke smooth as day, reaching for a cigarette that Stack had just rolled for him.

“Mhm what's my bid?” You asked, glancing up, handing Stack the wine you were holding. He'd been eyein it for a minute, you did always like to share. “Ten.” Smoke uttered. “Unt unt thirteen.” You uttered. “Eleven.” Smoke uttered and you shook your head “Twenty.” Smoke's eyebrows raised before he sternly huffed out “fifteen.”

“Deal!” You chirped reaching for your glass that Stack was basically trying to chug. “Boy I offered you some, not my whole damn severin!” You hissed pulling the glass from his lips hell the way yall acted folks would have thought yall were siblings. “Oh and im keepin tips.” You huffed. “Be our guest.” Stack chirped, fixing his suit jacket.

“We wantcha at the joint by Five so we could help you set up.” Smoke huffed before taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Can ya take my trunk? It's got all my show stuff in it.” You hummed pointing to the trunk full of glittery garments.

The twins hauled the trunk to the back of the blue truck they stopped by in.

You had grabbed the best smelling body oils you could find before leaving out the door. The sun seemed like it was gonna set at any moment. You were walking in the hot dirt with some flats holding your heels.

You'd be damned if you walked all the way there in those death traps. You hoped they had a wash room cuz boy you'd need it once you got there. Your slip was sticking to your skin from your sweat.

You had greeted your cousins at the door looking for a room to set up in hoping one of them fetched you a pale of water like you'd asked. It won't long til Annie and Mary came in to help you doll up.

“My lord, look at chu, I ain't seen you since you was bout this big.” Mary spoke as if she was speaking to a child she ain't seen in years estimating a height with her hand.

“Know you're a big star.” She hummed with approval as she finishes putting lipstick to your lips. “Ain't she beautiful.” Annie uttered softly pulling the strings tighter on the corset. “I've missed yall…” You uttered they both practically raised you when you was younger but once you're cousins left they had seemed to disappear til now.

They were like the big sisters you've always wanted. Annie help you put on your skirt while Mary carefully put jewels on your skin to make you look shiny. “We should have a girls night sometime.” Mary chirped as she adjusted your necklace.

“That sounds like good time.” Annie hummed as she fix my black lace sleeves.

It looked well with the red bedazzled corset.

“Maybe we could come up with new clothing designs or learn a thing or two from Annie, maybe I'd find a man after learning a few things.” You joked, looking at Annie before you all burst out into laughter. “Girl, please.” Annie damn near hollered as she handed you your red and black feather fans. “It's enough men out there all you need to do is be yourself.”

“We'll be right back don't you worry Sug let them boys know yous ready.” Annie chirped, lifting your chin to get a good look at cha. When they left you looked at yourself for once, you admired yourself you can tell by the way they applied your makeup that they had wanted the best unlike some who've helped you before. They didn't powder you up to look so bright. The used colors of your outfit. Colors that complimented you.

You haven't look like this before but you had to admit you felt more like you then you'd ever had since you started doing this. When the door came open it was only Annie in view. “Girl you wouldn't believe it, it was sum white folks at the door. They wanted to ‘Party’ showed up playing instruments and everything. Smoke told they sorry asses no should have seen the look on the Lil white boys face when Smike asked em if he was part of a clan.”

She laughed pinning my hair up. “Then he pointed and Mary and asked how'd she get in!” She hollered, clutching her stomach as she laughed poor things was damn near cryin. “Damn, that's Smoke for ya, I can't believe I missed that!” You huffed, smiling at the situation. “Where's Mary at anyway?” You asked curiously.

“Outside Stack sent her to go see what type of money they had.” You had nodded in acknowledgement.

[604to647]

Bringing You In Hot (drabble)

0.76K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

A/N and Summary: As part of the response to this ask from @kulekehe, a silly answer the question: Why not Tim Djarin? 🤭🤭

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls), nicknames as usual (Shutterbug), allusion to smut, roleplay, takes place anytime in their established relationship (part of The Rockford Portfolio but can be read standalone).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 😘 / Series Masterlist

Tim knows you have a thing for the Mandalorian. 

He’s watched the show with you, and the way your breath hitches whenever the Beskar clad main character appears onscreen doesn’t escape his keen detective observation.  Nor the way you would sometimes be squirming in your seat by the end of the episode.  And maybe he also clocks that on The Mandalorian watch nights, afterwards, you’re a little extra touchy, a little more feral when taking (ripping?) Tim’s clothes off, and you scream a little louder for the orgasms that Detective Rockford pulls from your sopping cunt.

He doesn’t mind, though.  It’s a fictional character in made-up Space.  Besides, the guy never even takes off the helmet – but, maybe that’s part of the appeal?

It’s this very question that Tim finds himself contemplating when picking up the Mandalorian helmet at the LAPD police auction preview.  Like most police departments, the LAPD holds an annual auction for unclaimed, forfeited or seized property that cannot be returned to the original owners. There's usually a lot of hype surrounding big ticket items like cars, boats, equipment and furniture, with their high spirited auctions and equally high spirited bidders. But the smaller miscellaneous items and general merchandise are marked for sale as is, and the police department given first crack at this inventory before its released to the public.

Tim usually went to the preview with Calloway for a bit of good fun, more of a way to break up their work day than to do any actual shopping, though he did get that second Gen iPod one year that he still uses to this day.  He weighs the helmet in his hand and finds it to be quite lightweight – must be made of high-quality plastic or something; it looks fairly realistic and true to what Tim can remember from the show.  He reads the info tag and determines that the helmet isn't some stolen production prop, but part of a cosplay handmade by or for some perp who’s skipped town.

Huh.  So, it’s meant to be worn.

---

“Tim?” you call out from the bedroom when you hear the front door open and the jingle of Detective Rockford's keys being dropped in the key bowl, “what’s this surprise you text me about?”

Though he doesn’t answer, you hear Tim's heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom where you're currently waiting in just the way he requested in that same text.

When your detective finally appears in the doorway, your jaw drops and you whimper. 

Tim’s bulk takes up nearly all the space beneath the frame as he centers himself for your viewing pleasure. He's wearing his usual work attire that always makes you want to swallow your tongue: crisp white dress shirt, now slightly wrinkled after a long day of solving crimes, pulled taut across his chest and pinched at his broad shoulders by that damn leather gun holster; tie slightly loosened beneath the unbuttoned top button, exposing the smooth base of Tim's thick neck; and sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow, putting the flex of Detective Rockford's strong forearms on full display.  But none of these attributes draw your attention the way they normally would, because you’re completely distracted by the shiny, full coverage helmet that’s currently covering Tim’s entire head.  The T-shaped visor and sleek hollow of the silver down the sides is unmistakable: he’s Din Djarin.

“Shutterbug?”

Cripes.  The way the helmet muffles Tim’s already velvety smooth baritone makes him sound even more like the actual Mandalorian.  You can feel your panties dampen.

“What’s all this, Detective?” you breathe, already vibrating with need, turned on beyond belief.

“I’m here to bring you in hot.”

You giggle, “Or what?  You’ll bring me in cold?”

“Nope.  No ‘or’.  I’m bringing you in hot.”

You moan at the command in Tim’s voice, recognizable even when he’s mimicking your Star Wars crush.  As Tim stalks into the room, approaching where you sit waiting on the edge of the bed, you can’t help but drool over his swagger, the way he so confidently embodies the rough and fearless bounty hunter.  You suppose, heart swelling with pride, it’s not too much of a stretch for your brave and brilliant detective.

Spreading your legs to accommodate the breadth of Tim’s frame, you peer up through your fluttering lashes, wide innocent eyes meeting the black visor stripe that tilts down menacingly at you.

“What if I don’t come willingly, Mando?”

A dark chuckle escapes the helmet, so low and breathy it makes you clench and drip.  Instead of answering, Tim draws your attention to his right hand with a small shake of his wrist; once he sees you blinking at his clenched fist, he releases his grip, letting his department issued handcuffs drop and dangle from his fingers.

You squeal in excitement.

[shushmal]

"I think it's sweet," Steve says.

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Nothing about Eddie Munson is sweet. He's a sewer rat, at best. Or like twenty opossums in a trench coat."

"Opossums are cute."

"He probably has rabies."

"You say that about me all the time, so I guess that's good. We'll have rabies together."

"He gave you a rock."

"You give me rocks all the time," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He runs his thumb along the textured edge of the rock Eddie'd handed to him.

"Yeah, good rocks." Robin scoffs. "That one sucks."

[seravph]

people talk about beauty like if you’re ugly you will die

[heartnosekid]

sleepy kirby cake ⭐️🫧 | aprilsbakerlondon on ig

[demaparbat-hp]

short hair katara and long hair zuko !!

They're talking shit about Jet

[cutiepieautistic]

Source

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ𓆝 𓆡⋆Mermaid Tears𓆝 𓆡⋆౨ৎ

fem reader x billy the kid mermaid reader + pirate billy au thank you my darling @phantomamour for proofing! tagging my lovely @francixoxoxo for au credit <3

It was hot, so sweltering that sweat was dripping down the back of Billy’s neck. He used his sleeve to wipe it away, leaning on the railing of the ship and nearly panting. The rest of the crew was in a similar state, even the man at the hull leaning on it with heavy eyes. 

The water looked so inviting, and Billy wished he could jump in. He tapped a finger on the wood, slipping into a soft daydream. Stripping off his clothes in the warm sunshine and slipping into the cool water, smooth skin brushing against his, soft hair tangled in his fingers. Nearly sighing out loud, he stared into the water, the foam brushing against the sides of the ship creating shapes like what he wished he was seeing. 

He thought he was dreaming when he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of hair poking from the water. Blinking, Billy rubbed his eyes, making sure it wasn’t the heat. The second time he saw you he was sure he wasn’t dreaming. You blinked up at him, wiggling your fingers in a little wave. With a little smile, he waved back, trying not to draw attention. You blew a single kiss and ducked back underwater, tail flipping up as you swam away.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, given you were prone to visit ships and check those onboard. In fact, it was how he’d met you for the first time. You’d ducked underwater shyly after he’d seen you, peeking back out when you didn’t hear him calling for someone to come see. He’d only been able to stare at you fascinatedly, watching the water drip from your hair like pearls in the sunlight, your eyes bright and curious. 

Billy knew the stories about mermaids when he’d first seen you, and seeing your wide-eyed, innocent gaze didn’t inspire a bloodlust for money in him like it might have in other men. To become a mermaid, a woman had to be pushed into the sea and drown. The way some on the crew talked about it, these were women who deserved it, but upon seeing you he knew it wasn’t true.

When the ship had made port he’d volunteered to stay behind and keep watch, allowing the rest of the crew to walk around town and enjoy themselves. That was where he’d seen you again, when you’d climbed the ladder with impressive arm strength to sit on the railing. He’d been hooked on you like a fish on a line ever since.

Now as he watched your shadow swim away underwater he slipped back into the fantasy. You and him, meeting on a little beach like the one you always went to. Him lifting you into his arms and carrying you to the shade of a tree, sitting down and asking you about your day. Sometimes you’d slip a shell or a pretty rock into his pocket and he’d find it later, marvel at how sweet you were to give up beautiful things you found for him. The crew thought he was a hoarder, but really he was surrounding himself with you, trying to exist within you when you weren’t with him.

“Mermaid!”

Billy’s head whipped up and his eyes widened when he saw one of the men pointing at the water where you’d just disappeared. He shook his head, looking around at everyone. “Just a dolphin.”

“It was a mermaid!” The same man was squinting into the ocean, and some of the other crew had gathered around him. “I saw her hair!”

“Get the nets!” Billy about killed whoever said it, praying you had long disappeared miles away from the ship. He looked cautiously over the edge just in time to see your head pop back up. You were holding something shiny in your hand, beaming and waving it up at him. His eyes widened but it was too late. With a loud cry, a net was launched over the side of the boat, barely missing you. He could hear your gasp over the sounds of the sea.

Billy very nearly shouted for you, just managing to bite his fist in time. With wide eyes, he tried to convey that you needed to leave, and fast. You turned your startled gaze to him, swimming closer as if in a trance. He shook his head violently, fearing for your life.

“The harpoon!” The stick was shoved into Billy’s hand and he let it drop. The crewmate who’d shouted was right there to put it back in his hold. “Get ‘er Billy! Or use your gun!”

“I’m not gonna-” he was cut off by the sharp sound of gunfire, and the harpoon clattered from his hand to the ground. Billy surged to the edge, searching the water. He could see a crimson trail leading away from the ship, but no body floating up from the water. You were nowhere to be found.

He felt sick at the thought of you swimming off somewhere to die alone, almost enough to pitch himself off the edge of the ship and drown. Maybe it’d been a shallow wound, but from the amount of blood he could see it didn’t seem possible. Billy looked away, feeling the way one would if they’d had too much sun. Everything had taken on a blurry quality, and he gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. 

The sea will take care of you, he thought, panicking and grasping for some hope to hold onto. The sea always takes care of her daughters. But still the longer he didn’t see you the worse he felt. You were supposed to meet him tonight when the ship made port like you did every week but would you this time? Would he wait, gazing into the sunset until his eyes burned for someone who would never come? His girl…only you weren’t his. You had never belonged to him and he’d accepted it long ago. It only came back to sting him now. If you were his then he could take care of you.

Hours drifted by lazily and Billy found himself slumped against the steps below deck, trying to regain his mind. He’d nodded when someone came down to ask if he’d stand guard at the ship, weakly making his way up to sit on the deck. The salt air would do him good, and if you had survived this awful day and were coming to see him he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Billy leaned over the railing, staring into the endless abyss of the water. He thought he saw the shape of you in the seafoam once or twice, or your silhouette in the pink clouds as the sun dipped into the sea. It was no secret to him that he was heartsick when you weren’t near, or even in his thoughts. 

There was a splash. Perking up, his feet took him quick to the other side of the ship. His heart began to beat steady again and he could have cried in relief. The top of your head and your eyes were peeking out of the water, a jewel in the crown of the ocean if there ever was one.

“Baby,” he breathed, slumping on the railing. “Nobody’s here, it’s okay-” he hadn’t finished when you started to climb the built-in ladder, hauling yourself up each peg quicker than he’d seen anybody do it. 

He reached down, hoisting you up under your arms and bringing you over to sit with him on the deck across his thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hid your face there, your damp hair curtaining his shoulder. “Billy.”

“‘M so sorry sweet girl, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to your head. “Oh my love…”

“I shouldn’t have been around so long,” you whispered. “I thought…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Stroking your hair, he shook his head. “No, no it’s okay. You didn’t do any wrong.” His blood boiled when he thought of the men who’d so blindly seen money in your place instead of a being. Reaching down, Billy grazed his fingers over the green material bandaged around your middle. “Is…does it hurt?”

You watched his hand. “A little.” He went to withdraw but you covered his knuckles with your palm. “Not when you touch it.”

“I wish we could run away,” Billy muttered, holding you closer. You shut your eyes when he started to stroke up and down your midsection. “Find some little island for nobody but us.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his chest. It was far from the first time either of you had said it, but imagining it was too nice to resist. Billy knew you would never give up your devotion to saving girls who might meet your fate though, and so he would wait faithfully. Maybe someday he’d save up enough to get a little hut by the sea. He’d make a living fishing but his real living would be done whenever you came around between your searching. He liked the idea of an island with just the two of you better.

“No matter what,” you breathed, “we’ll never be alone. I’ll always come back to you.”

“And I’ll always be waiting.” Billy kissed the top of your head, tasting salt. More times than not he’d wondered if the ocean was made up of tears, and that was why it tasted the way it did. Or maybe she knew she was a place of either drowning sorrows or heightened enchantment and she wept all the same.

Heaven knew most of his tears had found her. He’d cry buckets full if it gave you a place to swim. More and more Billy was finding that it wasn’t only his mind that was devoted to you-it was his body, the movements intentional and wanting for the only woman who could satiate his need. He needed you to breathe.

You fell silent, letting your wholeness of beauty say everything else. As you nestled into his arms with a rare sweetness, he knew that you felt it too. The harrowing need that would draw you two together for the rest of time.

[mischefous]

I had seen your "I have no mouth and I must scream" comic and thought it was fantastic. And then someone reblogged one of your recent whump requests, and it was amazing. And then I just started scrolling through your blog, and I love it.

If you're still taking requests, I would love some Legend whump! Magical exhaustion maybe, or if you're feeling it, stuck halfway in and out of his painting transformation

awwweee thank you @pokegeek151!

I went with Magical exhaustion hehe. I had the idea to give him a lil bit of a nosebleed. just like what happens to Eleven in 'Stranger Things'

and ohmahgosh that 'stuck halfway in/out of his painting form' is SUCH a good idea!!! unfortunately i have no idea how I would have drawn that XD. was almost imagining like- his top half is just hanging there stuck in the wall and the poor guy just fell asleep XD

anywaysss, i hope you enjoy!💙

CW! nosebleed

also yes I'm aware his bracelet isn't there. I tried to draw it on there but it just looked awkward

[cookies-after-dark]

writing a huuuuge headcanons post for shadow milk cookie and i frantically run to google images because i don't know how the hell to describe lingerie in writing. like how do i manifest shadow milk cookie's tiny ass in sexy clothing through TEXT.....