#this was a fun one pls enjoy

[nevervalentines]

and the sage always smells so pretty [read on ao3 here]

Some days, in Switzerland, Ava and Beatrice take a walk.

**

The trail curves, narrows, forcing Ava to take a side step closer to Beatrice. Between them, their knuckles brush, and Beatrice doesn’t pull away like she used to.

She’s wearing one of her too-large sweaters, the kind Ava steals back at the apartment, rolling up the sleeves around her wrists, smelling like Beatrice’s cheap corner store shampoo and the detergent the two of them share.

[4.1k words of gratuitous wildflower content, light straddling and mud wrestling the way god intended: nun on nun]

[kasieli]

When they said “blend in with the crowd,” they didn’t mean that. | From this scene in Winter Soldier because I saw it again and had to recreate it with these two

Bonus:

Feat. Poppy forgetting that Ominis is blind

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 30th:  Costumes | Children of the Grave - Black Sabbath | Loyal [1.9k, rated T] read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

“No, no, no, no—” Gareth protests, ducking the Donkey costume mask that Eddie tosses his way backstage. “Not again! Dude, that thing smells like having a condom over your face and it’s impossible to drum in. I’m not doing it this year. No way. Someone else is taking one for the team this time.” 

Eddie cackles, trying not to cry with laughter and smudge his green face paint. “Decide amongst yourselves then, but someone is wearing it. We’ve gotta commit.” 

Jeff snorts and shakes his head. “No chance, why can’t someone be like, Fiona or something?” 

“We need Donkey! He’s crucial to the story!” Eddie rolls his eyes and walks over to grab the mask. “Okay, circle up. We’re gonna Rock, Paper, Scissors this. On my count.” 

The rest of the band huddles around and Eddie counts to three. Gareth throws rock and celebrates as Frank and Jeff both throw scissors. 

“Redemption!” He celebrates as Eddie counts Frank and Jeff in for three. 

In the end, Frank gets stuck with the Donkey costume, Jeff reprises his Pinocchio costume, and Gareth steals Farquaad out from under Frank in the Rock, Paper, Scissors coup. No one is particularly happy, but Eddie doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t care because Shrek Night is his favorite show of the year. Since its inception a few years earlier, entirely by accident when Eddie was forced to perform as Shrek as a dare, it’s become something of a cult classic among Corroded Coffin fans. The last show they play before Halloween is a costume night, and the fans have taken to the theme like, well, like an ogre to mud. 

There’s something incredibly special about screaming the lyrics to their latest hit while a sea of Shreks and Gingys and Fionas scream along with him. 

And tonight is no different. 

—

“Shreddie! Shreddie! Shreddie!” 

The crowd roars to life as the group takes the stage, waddling in costumes and maybe a little itchy from body paint and latex masks. 

“Give it up for Donkey on the bass!” Eddie shouts, pointing to Frank. He gives his best, saddest wave. 

“Give it up for Pinocchio on the guitar!” He yells again as Jeff hammers a riff in response and grins in his fedora and suspenders. 

“And last but certainly not least, give it up for Lord Farquaad on the drums!” Gareth drums a little rimshot as the hat pokes out over the top of his high hat. How he plans on drumming the whole night crouched on his knees is beyond Eddie, but ultimately not up to him. 

The crowd goes insane, as usual, and Eddie takes a second to soak it all in, to glance over the various costumes before everyone melds into one collective unit of chaos. Fairy Godmothers, and Donkeys, and Fionas as far as the eye can see. He even spots a Puss in Boots in the front of the pit, standing next to a very attractive Gingy. 

He doesn’t have time to assess the life choices that lead him to have that particular thought though, because Gareth starts counting them in. 

—

Their originals are hits, of course, as are the covers. After all, it wouldn’t be a true Shrek Night without at least a couple of songs from the famed movies. 

“And then I saw her face!” He shrieks, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Now I’m a believer!” 

He runs around the stage, careful not to lose the microphone (again) as Jeff, Gareth, and Frank pound away at the melody. As the song comes to a close, Eddie slides on his knees, hardly protected by the cheap beige pants from Walmart, to the edge of the stage. 

“Not a trace! Of doubt in my mind! I’m a believer!” He sings, drawing out the final note. 

Chants and applause follow him up and he falls to his back, guitar over his chest, pounding his feet and fists on the stage as he catches his breath. Green paint melts from his forehead and when he brushes his hair back, he pulls his fingers away to see shades of ogre paint that’s surely made its way into his hairline. 

Before he can stand, Gareth shouts into his microphone, presumably to give Eddie another second or two. It’s no secret that I’m A Believer is high octane. 

“Do you know…” Gareth pauses for effect before shouting. “The muffin man?” 

Before the crowd yells out together, jumbled and out of sync, a faux high-pitched voice rings out surprisingly close to Eddie’s feet. 

“The muffin man!” 

He sits up and spots him: the hot Gingy he’d noticed earlier, laughing with a scrunched up nose, leaning on his friend’s shoulder. 

Oh, fuck me, Eddie thinks. He’s adorable. 

It’s usually the other way around: Eddie being ogled by a fan in the front row, staring up at him like he’s something to eat, like he’s prey. Ignoring them is easy enough, typically appeased with just a smile or a wink to carry with them forever, but this guy? The one with the fuzzy brown onesie with purple button and white, pretend icing lining the legs and waist? Well, Eddie’s never actually wanted a fan in the front row to look at him until now. 

So he scoots to the end of the stage, legs dangling over the edge, and steals Gareth’s line. Grinning down at the guy pressed to the railing, he screeches. “The muffin man!”

Gingy’s friend, known only to him at this point as Puss in Boots, elbows him hard in the ribs and he looks up to see Eddie staring right at him, crooked grin, and in hindsight, probably a bit more unhinged than planned. 

His friend looks back and forth between them, disbelief in the shape of her mouth and furrowed forehead, but it seems to work because Gingy returns the smile and has the audacity to wink at him. 

Eddie raises his green brows towards his hairline and nods appreciatively. The barricade isn’t far from the edge of the stage, close enough for Eddie to leave the microphone to the side and ask Gingy and his friend to hang back after the show. 

—

After one crowdsurfing escapade from Jeff, one quip into the microphone from Gareth about how he now understands why Farquaad is always so cranky, and few more of the originals peppered with All Star and Bad Reputation covers, Corroded Coffin takes an awkward but well-deserved bow. The crowd cheers for more, even after their encore, but eventually filter out through the venue’s exit doors, flooding the parking lots and nearby streets with Shrek characters. 

Eddie’s sure the local bars are having a blast. 

The only fans left are Gingy and Puss in Boots, who Eddie desperately needs the real names of before his thoughts turn into a troubling Shrek fanfiction. With a quick word to their manager, Chrissy, he makes sure they won’t leave before he comes back with a plan— a very weird, very niche plan that he hopes works on the presumably dorky, albeit confident, man in the fuzzy onesie. 

Her wings bump him in the shoulder and remind him that she truly is his Fairy Godmother. 

“Eddie,” Jeff deadpans as he plops his prop fedora on the backstage table and unfastens the buttons of his suspenders. “Are you really about to go hit on a fan? Dressed as Shrek? With an onion?”

“Do you have a better idea?” He whirls on him, a lone onion from a backstage fridge somewhere in one hand and a sponge trying to at least clean up his face paint in the other. He’s sure he looks insane. And he may as well be at this point. 

“Uh, don’t? That’s the better idea?” Frank offers in the corner, his face red and sweaty from the suffocating Donkey mask. 

“Not an option, so Operation Onion is on. I’ll be back. Or not. Hopefully not, actually.” Eddie shakes his head and sets down the makeup sponge, places the onion in his prop burlap bag. “Wish me luck!” 

Gareth sighs with ice packs on his knees. “Nope.” 

—

Eddie approaches the open backstage area, the spare lounge where Chrissy’s talking with Gingy and Puss in Boots. Maybe talking a little more intently to Puss in Boots, but he can’t begrudge her. After all, Eddie’s doing the same thing, isn’t he? 

He catches a bit of the conversation before opening the door, overhearing Chrissy refer to them as Steve and Robin. 

Thank God, he thinks to himself. Better than the placeholders. 

By no means does Eddie consider himself a rockstar— not yet, anyways. He enjoys the mid-level shows he gets to do with his friends, especially on nights like this, but he’s yet to harness that rockstar swagger. At his core, he’s still the marginally insecure, frantic kid from Bumfuck Nowhere, Indiana who paints D&D miniatures and speaks Elvish. And dresses up as Shrek, apparently. 

All of that to say, his heart pounds in his chest and his tongue feels twisted around itself when he knocks on the door. 

“Oh, hey, Eddie! Come on in! Great show tonight!” Chrissy smiles, wide and bright, as she introduces Steve and Robin. “This is Steve, and this is Robin. Steve, Robin, you all know Eddie. Or, should I say, Shreddie?” 

All three groan and shake their heads in good nature. 

“To be fair, man, you are still in the get-up. I thought you were going backstage to change or something.” Steve teases, eyes full of mirth and challenge. 

Exactly Eddie’s type. 

“And leave the three of you dressed up and feel out of place? Not a fucking chance.” Eddie takes a breath and goes for it, channeling his years of drama and general theatrics. 

He goes to take his seat on the sofa and pretends to trip, his burlap bag tipping over in time for his onion to fall to the floor at Steve’s feet. 

“Shit, sorry, that’s my onion,” Eddie shrugs. “Happens sometimes. Ogre and all, y’know? By the way, you’re gorgeous.” 

“Oh my God,” Chrissy mutters under her breath and ducks her head, leaning an elbow on Robin’s shoulder and covering her eyes. 

Steve’s mouth falls open into a little O and sits quietly for a few beats, nothing but the girls chuckling off to the side and an onion between them. Eddie’s about to swallow his tongue and see himself out when Steve leans forward and picks it up, tossing it up in the air above his head and catching it like a baseball. 

“Looks like you dropped this. And uh, thanks. I could say the same to you.” 

Robin wheezes and doubles over. “Jesus Christ, Steve. I know I’m a lesbian and all but this? This is what works on you?” 

Eddie likes her already, and a quick glance to Chrissy tells him Chrissy does, too. 

“Is this Ogre discrimination? Do I have to explain that we have—”

“Layers!” Steve finishes for him, nudging her in the ribs. “Ogres have layers, Rob. Don’t be so close-minded, God. Besides, he’s half melted and just ransacked backstage for an onion. Don’t judge our mating rituals.” 

Mating rituals? Eddie grins with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “Yeah, what he said.” 

Robin just shakes her head and gestures with one hand at the air between the two men, speechless. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go see if this sweaty, half-melted, babbling Onion Man wants to make out or something.” Steve slaps his hands on his thighs, still covered in fuzzy material, and stands. “What do you say?” 

When he shows up backstage to introduce Steve to the rest of Corroded Coffin, both of their faces are now smeared with green paint and Steve sports painted handprints in some telling places. 

Eddie gives them a bright smile and jazz hands, his friends’ expressions are as impressed as they are confused.

Shrek Night really is his favorite show of the year. 

tagging people who expressed interest <3: @cuips-not-cute @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @useless-nb-bisexual @kkpwnall@cuoredimuschio @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly@ohmagicalunicornlord @hellion-child @bxnsheeslxdia @pomegranatebb @vampeddie @horsegirleddiemunson @stobinesque @sidekick-hero @medusapelagia @slipperygiraff @epiclazershark @bayouteche thank you to @nostalgicbones for beta-reading and inspiring this!

[non-plutonian-druid]

ever since i saw that one promo poster i’ve vaguely wanted to redraw it because it looked it had Fun Character Shapes. i finally did it and i was right, there *were* lots of Fun Character Shapes to draw. also, fun colors and patterns! thank you sparrow ben and klaus for your fashions

[ID: a colored, cartoony redraw of the Umbrella Academy season 3 promo poster that had all of the Hargreeves piled onto a hotel luggage cart. Klaus is lounging in the front, and Viktor sits in front of him. Diego, Five, and Allison are sitting on suitcases on the cart itself. Lila is standing on the cart in the back, Luther is standing on the ground behind the cart, and Sparrow Ben is pushing the cart from the left. All of them are looking worriedly into the middle distance. End ID.]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

!!! FLASHING LIGHTS WARNING!!! [IM NOT FUCKIN AROUND!!]

REACHED THE CUSP OF 'THIS MAY NEVER BE ABSOLUTELY FINISHED N IF I DONT SHOW IT NOW, IT WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY.' SO HERE, A PROJECT IVE BEEN ORBITING AROUND UHH SINCE 2021 OR SO.

[mossmurdock]

forbidden fruit (g.suguru)

suguru used to share grapefruit with you after class.

it was a simple thing. you both would wait for at the same bus stop, him catching the first and you catching the second. one day your stomach happened to growl especially loudly and the rest was history.

he was popular enough to get at least a few gifted to him during the months where they were ripest, maybe from different people or maybe not. the details never mattered all that much to you whenever he offered you half of one.

the smell of april showers always mixed in with the aroma of the peels, zesting the air with citrus.

he always peeled them so delicately, even targeting the patchy white pith that latched itself to the meat of the fatty fruit. he said he wasn’t a fan of the texture. that the extra time it took to scratch and strip the extra skin off was worth it.

you never had the patience for it. it might have been why he offered to peel them so often. he made them look and feel like such a gentle fruit.

“i used to be able to eat these whole all on my own as a kid,” he said one afternoon. “now, if i eat more than half my stomach gets upset.”

he splits the fruit in two, his thumbs digging, forcing juice to pool into the crevices of his fingers and lines of his palms. a pool of it stains the laps of your uniforms by the time suguru’s bus arrives. he leaves you with the corners of your lips tangy and licked wet.

"i used to mistake them for oranges," you included internally.

it felt embarrassing to say aloud. the words would have left your mouth stupidly as each memory of him expertly dodging your friendly questions tainted the skin of your fingertips. keeping you at an arm's length, stretching just close enough to offer you something.

he would have laughed. you might have smiled naively, glancing down to the remaining slice pinched between your stained pointer and thumb before popping it into your mouth.

you huffed a breath out of your nose sharply, cheeks sapped by his contagious inclusivity. he had a way of making you feel part of something greater, even if it were for just a few moments at a time.

for weeks you watched him: the way he licked juice off his plump lips, the way he styled his hair, the way his legs spread whenever he sat down, and how he always perched his backpack on his lap; you felt included to view all these little antics.

you wondered if—during all that time—he noticed things about you too.

the last time the two of you share fruit is anticlimactic. your guard is down. you don't even find out that he'll be gone until the new school year starts and a week of you alone at that bench passes.

you suck at the nectar on your hands messily, turning your head towards the road after hearing the sound of tires rolling through gravel.

the last thing you remember is seeing the back of his head. your eyes drifting to the closed fist at his side, a grapefruit peel peeking out of the crevice of his palm.

[useramor]

chapter four: kisses on necks of best friends rated: E | word count: 13k | 4/9

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to realize what Buck’s doing.

There was Taylor Kelly, and then there was a classic cat-in-a-tree call with a pretty brunette who batted her eyelashes at Buck’s strong arms holding the kitten in them, and then there were the two handsy blondes at the bar fight gone too rowdy that Buck didn’t shrug off like normal, instead soaking in the attention. 

It wasn’t until the call to a college pool party—a girl who passed out and fell into the deep end—when a guy hit on Buck, and all Buck did was slowly drag his gaze up to where Eddie was watching him. 

The second Eddie’s eyes were on him, his posture became loose and relaxed. Easy. Eddie knows from experience all it would take to get Buck choking on his cock when he’s like that is a smirk and pointed nod down.

He’s trying to rile Eddie up. It’s–he’s being a fucking tease. On purpose. 

Eddie wants to wreck him.

read from the beginning

this fic is complete, chapters are posted every day

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Short Shorts (And Cold Beer)

2500 words of Rolan x OFC smut, inspired by @orangekittyenergy's WONDERFUL 80s camp counsellor Rolan drawing. Go and look at it RIGHT NOW, because you need to have those short shorts in mind when you read this fic ;)

tags: half-orc OFC, camp counsellor AU, spanking, oral, sub Rolan. E rated below the cut!

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

Lennie had been paired with Rolan all day, and she was about ready to flip. She’d spotted him on day one, all endless leg in his tiny camp shorts, and wondered if maybe this would be the summer she’d finally have a fling. Who even knew if she’d be back next year, after she finished at Waterdeep U? She’d probably have a real job by then, and have to say goodbye to this place that she’d gotten such fond memories of. 

Even the first time he opened his mouth hadn’t put her off either. Sure, he sounded like every cocky Blackstaff student, drunk on the status of their historic institution - but she thought there was a charm to his slightly stilted Baldurian accent, and an interested, if brief, glance at her tusks. 

But after two weeks, she was at her limit. This boy did not stir except to do the absolute bare minimum required - except when the topic was magic. And then, instead of teaching the kids any, he’d spent the whole time showing off his own. Jerk.

She’d been tasked with getting the camp hall ready for when the kayaking crew came back, and since they were paired, that meant Rolan as well. He had definitely been told to do it too.

Mysterious, then, that she had been left rearranging all the tables and chairs ready for crafting, and Rolan hadn’t lifted a finger. Hadn’t, in fact, shown up at all.

She squeaked her muddied sneakers irritably off the floor, and headed for the staff room, where she was absolutely sure he would be. In any case, she needed the keys to the supply cupboard, and they were usually hanging around in there.

His tail tweaked a little when she walked in, fingers tensing on his book - and that’s how she fucking knew he felt guilty. And yet. He still didn’t look at her. 

Lennie’s jaw clenched, looking at him sprawled out like that. One long, barely-dressed leg on the floor, one on the back of the couch, resting on the cushion exactly where his long white sock ended, as if he wished to lounge like a portrait of scholarly decadence on purpose. And his hair was fucking perfect, as it always was, because every time a slightly too strenuous activity ruffled it, he stopped to tie it perfectly back up. Even if that meant ignoring a screaming kid’s bloody nose.

Enough. She marched forwards, tusks digging into her twinging skin, and yanked the book from Rolan’s hands.

‘What the Hells?’ he hissed, jerking upright. ‘What gives you the right to -‘

‘We’re meant to be setting out the craft tables!’

 Rolan grabbed for his book, but she was already expecting that. The air whipped beneath her quick fingers as she snatched it away.

‘I’ve had enough,’ she snapped.

‘Of what?’ Rolan fired back sarcastically. ‘Doing your job?’

‘It’s your job too, asshole.’

‘And? I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘You’re not doing anything!’

‘What do you mean? I broke up a fight this morning.’

‘By threatening to horsewhip them! That’s not appropriate and you know it!’

He shrugged, leaning back into the seat, though his eyes kept darting venomously to the book in her hand. ‘It worked, didn’t it?’

‘No, Rolan. He cried, and I had to talk his mom down on the phone for half an hour while she threatened to sue!’

‘Oh.’ To his minor credit, Rolan looked a teensy bit uncomfortable, his arms crossing defensively. ‘Well.’

Lennie waited, seeing him on the brink of an apology. Any moment now, she thought. She realized she was looming a little threateningly over him, and decided she didn’t care. It was having a slightly chastening effect, after all; plus, as he shrank into the cushions, his crop top was hitching up, showing even more of his pretty stomach. Not that she was staring. Although… when she looked back at him, she noticed he was staring too. Directly at her thighs. 

‘Oh, piss off!’ he snapped, coming back to life. ‘I’m only doing this job because - it doesn’t matter. You’re here for fun.’

And with that, he tried again for his book.

Still too fast for him. This was a stupid game, and she couldn’t believe she was playing it with another grown adult. A fucking Blackstaff student, of all things. 

He scowled at her. ‘Give that back. It belongs to my university library.’

Lennie scowled right back. She noticed the keys to the store room on the windowsill. 

‘Give me those, and come with me. We’re setting up this fucking crafting station.’

Rolan’s lip curled back in a grimace. ‘Or what?’

Their eyes met, and Lennie felt the spark of a challenge in his determined stare.

‘You know what?’ she muttered, throwing his precious Blackstaff book aside. ‘Someone ought to horsewhip you. Maybe that would fix your attitude problem.’

The hem of Rolan’s crop top rose and fell with a distinctly heavier breath than before. 

‘Are you’ - he paused, apparently for once in his life struggling for words - ‘…offering?’

He swallowed, and then squirmed slightly as she cast her eye over him. This was rather unexpected. But…

‘Well, I don’t have any whips on me. You’d have to make do with a spanking.’

Somehow, her words were laced with confidence, summoned from a reservoir deep inside. Or maybe it was just two weeks of simmering irritation, yearning to be expressed. Either way, Lennie bit her lip on the feeling that she was way out of her depth; but she got the feeling Rolan was too. A riot of puce red blush covered him from cheek to ear tip. 

‘I - yes - please -’

The staff cabin was a terrible place to do this. They could both be fired, if someone walked in - but he was pulling his legs up on the couch, and she was sitting down, and suddenly he was wriggling into her lap and she was yanking him further over, hands fastened on his bony hips. 

Fuck. His pert, shorts-clad ass tensed in her lap, cock throbbing rock-hard against her thigh. A nerdy Blackstaff wizard had no business having an ass this good.

She brushed her hand over it, and he whimpered.

‘Just to be clear,’ she ventured, ‘we’re both getting off on this?’

Rolan whimpered again, rubbing his face into the couch seat, one foot eagerly waving in the air.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I move your tail?’ She hesitated, unsure if it would be overstepping or not. 

Impatience whip-lashed through his voice. ‘Yes, gods-dammit!’

IHer hands were positively itching to spank him, but first, she took his tail in her firm grasp and hoisted it over her shoulder. The tip wrapped around her neck, down beneath her sweatshirt, and rubbed in nervous anticipation against her skin.

‘You know I’m on my school’s weightlifting squad?’ she murmured. ‘I can pack quite the punch.’

‘I. Don’t. Care,’ he groaned. ‘Spank me!’

She took a deep, irritated breath, and smacked him.  

Rolan shouted so loud with just the first kiss of her hand, she feared he might have come already; but as the whimpers subsided, he writhed in her lap, bucking his ass up suggestively toward her.

‘You’re strong,’ he muttered. ‘I still don’t know why you need my help. This camp runs itself just fine without - ahhhhh!’

One more slap shut him right up. Lennie felt her bargaining chip, twitching pathetically against her thigh, and ran her fingers along his skin; just up beneath the hem of his shorts. 

‘If you want any more spankings, you’re going to fucking work when you’re on duty with me. Understood?’

Rolan’s tail shuddered, his cock twitching again. 

‘Fine.’

Slap. His ass bounced beneath her hand, the sound muffled by the fabric.

‘You mean yes. And sorry.’

A low growl emerged, but no sorry. She waited a moment, hand raised, sure that if she just withheld it long enough -

‘Fine!’ he hissed. ‘Yes!’

Slap. The whimpers escalated to a moan, his hips grinding into her lap. 

‘Please!’

Lennie’s lips pursed around her tusks. Was he just incapable of apologising? 

Abruptly, she reached out for his perfect, stupid bun, with all its neat little twists, and pulled it. 

‘Fuck!’ 

Rolan jerked in her lap, writhing like a caught fish from the camp lake, but she was not letting go. Not when she was this close to a prize catch. Her fingers tightened in his hair.

‘Say sorry. Now.’

‘Sorry!’ he gasped, and then again as she smacked him, the tension in her muscles working itself thrillingly loose. ‘Sorry - sorry - I’m sorry -’

She smacked him faster, watching his legs kick and his back writhe, his sinuous ridged spine flex as he ground into her, begging for more, gasping and pleading for her to hit him harder, harder, please harder - 

It just wasn’t quite enough - even as she rolled her hips and felt her core flood with filthy heat, hungry to hear his once-cocky mouth moan again.

‘Rolan?’ 

Her voice came out much breathier than she expected it to, and she felt his tail tighten round her in response.

‘Yes?’ 

‘Can I pull your shorts down?’

‘Oh,’ he groaned. ‘Thank the Gods - I thought you’d never ask -’

As she jerked them down, slipping her hand beneath to carefully free his cock from the layers of fabric, she felt a rush of nerves. If someone came in, found her stroking and spanking his beautiful bare ass like this…

But his cock throbbed so hot, and the tip so wet, against the skin of her thigh, that she couldn’t help it. There was no point quitting now. She pulled his shorts down to just below his ass, reveling in how slutty he looked. They bunched at the top of his thighs, underlining the swell of his full cheeks.

‘Fuck,’ she muttered, pressing her hips into him again, gripping his ass tight. His skin was soft and hot, a satisfying handful in her broad grasp. The crack of his ass beckoned her, and she thought for a moment of asking if she could touch him there too. Somehow, she thought he’d love a finger or two up there, teasing him - but she really did not want to be caught with her fingers up his ass. Like this would be bad enough.

Rolan squirmed impatiently, and whined. If he made a single more noise - she thought she might soak all the way through her clothes -

She brought her hand down as hard as she possibly could. Rolan’s skin rippled, the slap resounding throughout the room, and she didn’t even wait for him to beg for more before she did it again, and again, and again, determined to make his ass as red-hot as his face; but as she spanked him he writhed and shouted and rubbed on her until abruptly, with only the fifth, rough blow to his bare ass she heard him scream.

His ass clenched, thrusting into her lap, and suddenly the inside of her thighs were hot and wet - hotter and wetter than before, even - and his cock twitched out the last of its thick erection against her. 

‘Oh. Gods.’

‘Oh - Gods -’ Rolan repeated after her, sounding much more panic-stricken. ‘I’m sorry - I did not mean to -’

He unhooked his claws from the couch and Lennie thought she was about to see stars with lust. The claw marks - he’d ripped all down the couch’s worn cover, exposing the cushion beneath. And as he raised his head and quickly wriggled off her lap, pulling his shorts back up, she saw a second wet patch, where his mouth had been pressed down into the seat - though he tried to hide it with his hand.

‘Shit,’ she murmured. ‘I should clean this up -’

‘Let me,’ he gasped, and she nodded. He probably had some spell -

‘Oh, fuck.’

He didn’t mean with a spell. 

Rolan slipped down, onto his knees in front of her, licking his come off her thighs. Lightning skittered up her skin; her muscles clenched, and she had to consciously relax to enjoy the soft velvet of his tongue.

She spread her legs, as he kissed a little further up - further up again - and then as he pressed a kiss to the seam of her shorts, right over her clit, she groaned and tangled her fingers in his hair. 

‘I’m going to take them off…?’ 

‘Yes,’ he murmured, nose rubbing into her. ‘Yes!’

She wiggled out of them, trying not to kick him - hard, when he seemed to determined not to move from the floor in front of her. But finally they were off, and she felt a flicker of embarrassment, one that made her eyes twitch shut. Humans could be weird enough about the amount of body hair half-orcs had, but tieflings had none at all. What if Rolan hated it? 

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again, and an ache spread through her at the sight of him.

Rolan was looking at her bush with open lips, drool pooling in the corner; he broke his gaze only long enough for his glassy eyes to flick up to hers, wider than she’d ever seen them before. She felt suddenly like she’d misjudged him - not that it mattered now, she could figure him out later -

One moment more, and he was nose-deep in her folds, fingers spreading her, licking her and stroking her and drinking her in, as if she were a deliciously cold beer on a hot summer’s day. Gods, Lennie thought, leaning back - imagine if she was drinking a beer right now - fuck - no, she decided, it wouldn’t matter anyway, because could anything be better than this? Being eaten out by the most beautiful boy she’s ever seen, whose ass must still be glowing from her hand? In the staff room at camp?

She realized, though a haze of blissful heat, that her foot was digging into his back. All the mud on her shoes was definitely going to leave a mark, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Instead, she grabbed his hair and dug her heel in harder, rewarded with the prettiest sound yet. Gasps and whimpers rippled through her folds, and as Rolan’s hands gripped her thighs and his tongue pressed into her clit she felt herself approach the edge, skin pulsing with the rhythm of his strokes.

Wet and hot and tender and urgent and -

Oh Gods -

‘Oh GODS! Rolan! - ahhhhhhhhh!’

Her body snapped in on itself like a spring, then arched back, her thoughts all blown away by pleasure. It took several moments before she felt conscious again, her fingers gently unwinding from Rolan’s very disheveled hair. 

His thigh brushed up against hers, as they sat there awkwardly on the couch next to each other. 

‘Can I - ’ he started awkwardly, and stopped. She could feel the heavy, nervous breaths in his ribs, pressing against the side of hers. ‘Kiss you?’ he finished.

Pulling him close, she thrust her mouth against his, skipping an answer entirely in favor of their lips clashing and tongues fumbling between tusks and fangs. As imperfect as their kiss was, it was wonderful. Lennie cradled his chin, and Rolan’s thumb stroked her cheek, and it was only with great reluctance that she pulled away. 

‘We have work to do. You promised, remember?’

His golden eyes fixed on her, still looking a little dazed.

‘I might need… regular spankings. To remind me of it.’

‘Well,’ she murmured, licking her tusk teasingly. ‘We have all summer.’

[sugaggukkie]

Back from the dead for more kpop opinions no one asked for but I have to share: Le Sserafim at Coachella edition:

You would think the way people online were talking about this set, the girlies went on stage and BOMBED. I was prepared to watch the worst live set I’ve ever seen. INSTEAD. It was so fun?????? Like incredibly undeniably extremely super fucking FUN!!!!!!!!!! I literally can’t believe the shit yall say on dolly parton’s internet about this group.

Firstly. Since the SECOND I got into kpop all I have seen is endless debate on the overuse of lip syncing and vocal smoothing and loud backtracks etc etc etc and I have always always always been on the side, as someone who has seen quite literally hundreds of live sets, of LIVE. VOCALS. I want to hear breathing I want to hear cracks I want to hear imperfections I want to hear actual singing from a real live person standing on stage. Were their vocals perfect? Obviously not. Were they still giving it their all, dancing at full energy, and putting on an insanely fun show???? YEAH GIRL. Not one person on planet earth bar beyonce can dance at that level and give absolutely flawless vocals and for the energy they were expending the vocals still sounded fine and most importantly, conveyed the emotion of the set they were going for. It was high energy! It was hot and fun! It was a party! Of course they’re going to yell and scream and hype up the crowd and run around, THANK GOD THEY DID.

Secondly, if I had watched it and the crowd hated it and the energy was bad and everything was awkward and weird that’d be one thing. But the ENTIRE time everyone in the crowd was losing their minds, screaming the girls’ names, and SINGING ALONG!!!!!!!! The energy was so good and fun and you could tell everyone there was having a blast which in my opinion is the absolute 100% nonnegotiable most important part of a live set.

Thirdly, I’ve watched all of their encores, other live stages by them, and I feel like I know what they sound like live in general and this was actually truly leagues better than they’ve been in the past and that wasn’t because their vocals were worlds better, they were definitely improved but not by like A TON. what actually made this their best performance I’ve ever seen was how fucking fun the entire set was and how you could tell what they practiced was their actual stage presence and the show they put on and it PAID OFF!!!!!!!!!! The entire thing was just so enjoyable to watch and I truly didn’t want it to end because you could tell they were having so much fun and really working the crowd.

My favorite parts were eve psyche in English, the bit about going out for a drink but then realizing eunchae and kazhua are underage, the live band, THE NEW SONG!!!!!! WHERE THE HECK IS SAKI!!!!!! and of course “Coachella shake some fucking ass”

In conclusion, you guys don’t go to enough live shows, don’t know anything about what makes a performance good, love to be miserable, and hate having fun. I on the other hand, who love to have fun, love talented young ladies putting on a great show, and love live music for all its flaws and imperfections, had an absolute blast watching this set.

[hcdragonwrites]

A Mountain of Sweets

(a @journey-to-the-au fic) Tea Trouble part 1

Ok! This is a part one of two- yes I did it again I wrote something that’s a biiiiit longer then I want to subject y’all to in one post- so I had to split it. ENJOY!

Today would be glorious.

Earth Reaching Willow had to make sure everything went perfect. She had woken early, disentangling herself from her cuddle buddy of Wukong, Pear and several new babies who had begged for a story and had fallen asleep on Willows arms and in her hair. She dressed simply and made her way to the kitchen to help get a head start.

Her sisters were coming to visit.

All six sisters.

Everything had to be perfect, it would go perfect. It would go amazingly well. Willow had already started upon the tea cakes and tarts, picking the best peach jams and stuffings. Willow selected the finest green tea brand. Willow pulled the tea set gifted to her from Guanyin on her Wedding day, a spectacular peace of simple white porcelain laced and decorated in blossoms. She grabbed the finest tray and collected the sweetest teacups. When the teacakes and tarts finished she settled herself into the work going through the cold storages and ice boxes for the best fruits and seeds to fry. A plethora of moon tea cakes, of coconut cakes, and bean cakes was slowly being created. Willow roasted pine nuts, she fried small breads and cut the cold stored fruit into harmonious shapes of lotus blossoms and stars.

All seven sisters were coming to visit Flower Fruit Mountain. Stress strung her tighter then a bow for two reasons. The first of course was to impress. Her sisters would finally see how beautiful the world is here, to see how the Earth was not something to turn their nose up at. It was a paradise that consistently changed, that surprised her with every hand painted dawn and new sketched night. No two days were the same, no two phases of the moon were similar. The world was cast in shades and colors and music that Willow hoped- that she prayed - her sisters would see.

The second reason for her stress was … all six of her sisters were coming to visit.

Summer Turning Flower, her second sister and her mothers daughter. Winter Frosted Grace, with her cold confidence and calculations. Autumn Leaves Falling, who could charm a raging storm with a smile. Wind Over Sea, the swiftest and most eager to please. Weaves The Clouds, who liked to prank and tease. And Little Weaver Girl, the sweetest and youngest of the sisters.

Seven sisters of Heaven and … Willow worried for her sweet family here on the Mountain. Back when the Heavens didn’t corral the daughters in so tightly, on a summer night, they had decided to visit the earth. They had snuck out and taken their fathers best heavenly steeds- both as protection and as a mode of transport- to take a night among the mortals. It was a jaunt and play at rebellion, one Willow and Flower had been in planning for years. They had escaped the court, laughing with the abandon of children. Down to earth the seven sisters upon seven steeds had come a galloping. They had gone to the closest river, the shiniest bend of liquid night, and had slipped from garments to nothing. They had swam with abandon, laughed and splashed. The joy of that night gave Willow a beat of heart sickness. She missed those days when the sisters had laughed and schemed together.

They had been so naive then. So carefree. A taste of that joy was just in her memory, a warm brush against her senses. Like a ghost of a feeling.

“Willow?”

She turned seeing a very sleepy and very tired Wukong blinking at her. His fur was mused. His face still carrying the lines of sleep as he yawned wide and rubbed at his eyes.

“I was wondering where you had gone.” He came walking forward into the kitchen reaching for her hand. Willow stepped forward and took it. Wukongs eyes widened at the counter behind her- the red practically swallowing the polished gold of his pupils. “It is so early still, My Willow Tree.”

Willow felt a bit of her face flame. Just a little, as the Monkey King stepped up to the counter and looked at her mornings work. Wukong tugged her hand.

“Tell me you haven’t been up all night making these.” His faced begged her to counter his assumption. How else could she have accomplished so much in so short a time?

“Only since the first chime of the bell.” Willow sheepishly tucked a stray hair behind her ear, looking to the floor, to the ceiling, everywhere but her sweet friends face.

“The first chime! Willow- that was six Chimes ago!” He admonished and her husband was suddenly larger- leaning into her face and taking away her ability to duck his looks. Drat Wukong. Her friend may be uncomfortable with direct eye contact but he would quickly forget about it when it came to things of this nature. He now used his magic to make it so she could not escape his scrutiny.

“That was the turning of the night Guards! I could have had the chefs start the preparations. You did not have to wear yourself out.” Wukong gently put a finger to her chin, tilting her head up. A thumb ran beneath her eye, shadowing the dark circles that had made nests below.

“… “ Willow was caught. She had nothing to say in her defence. She had just been so nervous- so nervous and wanting to impress the impossible expectations of her sisters. Wukongs eyes softened, the gold going warm , honey melting into warm embers.

“Oh Willow what has you so worried.” He held her face in his hands gently, not caging her in but holding her so she could not deny or run from it. A simple I am here that grounded her.

“I just want everything to be perfect.” Willow sighed. She held one of his hands with her own. Wukong twined his fingers with hers, rubbing the backs with the pad of his thumb. “I want them to love Earth and see how much I love it. How beautiful it is. This whole place- everyone here- I love it so Wukong. I just …”

“Princess,” He kissed her brow, the places beneath her eyes where those shadows nestled. His smile was the soft curve of the moon at night, all soft light and kindness. “Your sisters will love it because you love it. You have nothing to worry for.”

“You say that but…”

“Willow,” he tapped her nose, tucking and tugging her into his arms, “if you wear yourself out before they have even started their decent from Heaven, I will bring Beng in here to scold you for the lack of sleep.”

His breath tickled her ear as he threatened Willow. She gave a mock gasp, looking up from her place beneath his chin.

“Not Beng! He scolds with his face.” Willow scrunched her face in the best Beng impression she had, the one the medicine monkey wore when his patients clearly ignored his advice. Wukongs face broke into laughter, a delightful waterfall of vibration along her back. “He may never say a harsh word but his face speaks enough to make my ears turn red.”

“My point exactly.” Wukong said. He grew a bit larger, setting Willows feet on his own. He started to walk her back, puppeteering her away from the kitchen in the goofiest way. “Now come on…”

“But…” Willow looked at the rice cakes, the bountiful mess and harvest of her labour. Was it enough?

“No one will touch the cakes.” Wukong promised. “No one would think to today of all days to do that. All of the mountain is abuzz and they want today to go off without a hitch.”

“I just … “ want to impress them. Want to impress you. I want there to be harmony between the love of my family in Heaven and the love of my family On Earth. “I want you to be happy with them.” She said out-loud.

Willow didn’t get to see the way the monkeys eyes went from honey to butter at her words. He melted against her, draping her in fur and twining his tail around her waist.

“Oh my Willow Tree.” He said it so softly, eliciting Willow to look up. Just in time, for Wukong had her legs out from under her and had swung her around onto his side. He was carrying her almost like the mothers did to their babes, close but with one hand on the ground. Willow curled into him, seeing the tender admonishment in her friends eyes.

“Come. Back to bed with you. The littles are all upset their Grandmother left without morning kisses and Pear is particularly beside herself.” Before she could say more, Wukong was loping away and back to their room where a barrel of littles came climbing and begging for cuddles and kisses. Wukong worried not for the snacks Willow had made. He more or less worried about the the stores she had burned through in those six chimes.

For Willow, in all her worry, had made a mountain of tarts, a landslide of teacakes, a sea of fried breads and foodstuff, that spilled and took over not one but four of the longest counters in the kitchens.

As he looked down on her, still holding him as she cuddled and cooed to the little monkeys he thought, fondly and with humour, “What am I going to do with you and your habit of baking us under a mountain of sweets?”

It was only a short time later that Ma and Ba crept into the kitchen, tempted by the smells of sweets and baking.

“Just one won’t hurt.” Ba grumbled. He wouldn’t admit it to Willow- but her food had woken him from his tangle with Chestnut and their little Lychee.

“Of course.” Ma said, stepping up to the counters with her tail excitedly flagging. She was still in the dregs of her recent release from postpartum depression. Willow had gently, for weeks, left foodstuffs and sweets outside her and Bengs hut. A kindness and a gesture Ma was so thankful for. Between Pomelo and Mulberry, she was practically spent with energy. She had also smelled the sweets being made and … couldn’t help herself.

“Willow wouldn’t mind one missing…” or two. Or ten.

Neither of the Marshals however, noticed the ice blue eyes open from a perch just above them, a cracked fracture in the wall.

“If you touch a single one of Willows cookies for those Celestials,” the cold voice of Xinshu whipped out like an adder freezing the twins in place “I will personally see your pelts pulled and turned into mud rugs.”

Xinshu fell as silent as a snow cat from her perch. Her teeth were barred in a threat. “I won’t have you two making us look foolish because you ate all of the baked goods.”

Ma and Ba, caught and cowed, scuttled away from the white simian in all her fury. If they had lingered long enough to see, to peek back in, they would have seen Xinshu look at the sweets. Like at a peach tart. And slide it into one of the pockets in her belt

[thasorns]

But from what I’ve seen, he already tries and works so hard. - Cause he has you who always spoils him, that’s why he’s like this. — Parents about Waan

Working is not fun. If you have the chance to live your life, then do it. Work is not going anywhere. You should let it go sometimes. — Waan to Win

I’m not gonna stop you, if you wanna help. But I just don’t want you to give up on your dreams. Don’t want anybody to force you to do this and that. — Win to Wiew

Dad! In case you didn’t know, Waan was gone all night because he was dealing with the issues at the resort. I promised Hia Win that when I grew up, we’ll help each other to run the resort. But now, I wish it could go bankrupt. I’m also curious, if you don’t have that stupid hotel would you gonna be the old dad we used to have? — Wiew to his father

[casismybestfriend]

help me break my art block!

please submit a comment/reply on this post or an ask in my inbox of a character you’d like me to draw :D

i have little to no practice with drawing people and living things, so i’d like to start fixing that, especially before inktober. don’t be afraid of submitting the same request as someone else, i might just draw them a second time to practice even more :)

[theheartchoice]

Dean Winchester is your favorite demon-hunter turned demon. See our cover boy rock some threads for when good guys go bad and spill the blood on what demons really get up to in the dark.

New issue of WICKED out now! 😈

#suptober22 day 4: wicked

[sysig]

The most fun you can have, barring the pain and torture (Patreon)

[perelka-l]

Crop top guy :)

[wholubesthelubeman]

basilisk... the choice of name for him in this alt u makes me for so normal UGH. the monster who cause death to those who looks into its eyes. why the guy keep getting monster for a name and anyway i love it