#//Sorry this is a million years late

[ever-winter]

@the-wayward-snowflake asked:

"You followed me here, didn't you?" -for Pantalone

Well, wasn't that a curious thing? Most people tended not to notice his presence until he'd allowed for them to do so - he did have other skills after all, he wasn't just a glorified banker - though he would admit that his best work was done behind a desk. This woman, she'd managed to catch his attention earlier, almost like a fleeting memory that pulled at the back of his mind - and the feeling had annoyed him enough to have followed her on her way home, hoping that the strange sense of curiosity would be rather easy satisfied by whatever he found out on the way. "I wasn't planning on being spotted so soon", he sighed lightly, but if there was any shame in being caught following her, he wasn't showing it, "Perhaps it would be simply quicker to ask you then. Who are you? There are very few faces that grab my attention that I forget...and I have seen you before, I just cannot recall as to where. Perhaps you may have the answer I seek?"

[elysiumkerr]

"One of the brave ones."

It's a flattering statement. Elysium knows that not all art is created in the interest of bravery. Some of it's done for money. Some, desperation. Is it brave to show the rawest parts of yourself on the canvas? Or is Elysium demanding bravery of the viewer, to engage with the horror, the inner darkness?

"Even if you don't like it, it sounds like you put more thought into the why and how of it than simply turning up your nose. So even then, it'd be worth the effort to be disliked by your analytic eye. Which is little comfort to those in the slush pile, I get it, but we all have ways of coping with rejection."

For the artist, that often includes drugs and drinks, but who's to judge their method and madness?

Elysium stretches out their hand to take his. "Riven," they repeat. "Elysium. Legendary, a place of blessed rest for the dead. Including long gone hopes and dreams. They're aaaall up in here." The artist taps their temple.

"Thanks. For seeing me, for looking at the work. For being brave enough to ask."

This wasn't his intent; to speak her language, whether visual or other kind. In fact, this had very little to do with him and entirely to do with what was in front of him. The truth. Bare, ugly, raw. There was nothing more he liked than honesty — it was why he peaked inside the minds of others, for their most intimate truths; the ones they were hiding somewhere deep in invisible hands so tight. Only when their conscious was asleep did those phantom fingers loosened and let the truth slip through the gaps. The pen in his hand stopped moving. "Then that makes you one of the brave ones." a beat, "But that's evident, in the way you paint." Because those pieces were not there to rub a two week manic episode in his face. Not a blinding state of rage that wrecked havoc on those canvases for a whole night, and then washed off. This wasn't a temporary thing. It was her. Down to her very core.

And it was mountains and oceans away from who he was. But this wasn't about him. He put the pen and his notebook away.

"No, it isn't fair, I assume. I couldn't give you the answer you're looking for, simply because I'm on the other side of things. People spend months, years even on a book — a single idea they've thought had been genius, or decent enough to be made available and affordable for the rest of the population, like they've got something so important to say, they must share it with us mortal imbeciles, who couldn't think genius thoughts. And I, get to judge it, for over twenty minutes, and if I don't like that extraordinary idea sprung from the genius mind of whoever thought of it, then it's tossed into a pile with the rest of the pioneer novels." Riven shrugged casually. Of course, this wasn't all true. There were books worth reading, and ones worth editing to be made greater. There were those ones worthy of a chance. The ones worthy of attention, of recognition, of viewers spending more than minutes on them. Like any other piece of art — they deserved to be admired. Remembered. To live on, after all of them have gone and turned to dirt.

So, was he pleased? Was this worth his time?

He took a sip of his drink, then turned his attention back to the artist, who's name he was yet to find out. Eyes had barely traced over that name tag over the paintings, but they were always made in such small font he could barely squint to read it. He'd rather extend his hand in introduction. "I am pleased. Thank you for the honesty. Riven —"

[upperranktwo]

☆Giyu Tomioka☆

Extremely belated birthday gift for Art ♡ @apparently-artless

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Whenever Starscream or Megatron goes to rant about the other to someone who knows them both, they can't even say "you deserve someone better" to either of them because they both deserve each other, its like a containment unit where no one else has to deal with either of them and its free entertainment

[cheatsylu]

Omg..... for requests maybe any of the boys playing dress-up, or the colors :]]] your style is soooooo cute i love it!!! 💙💙

Red is a victim

[mittsushi]

I like him a normal amount

[gunsatthaphan]

I've never been more normal,,..,..,--..,,.-,,

[seiya-starsniper]

hello hello i see you're open to prompts 👀

how about #20"I'm just going to lie right here" for dreamling (or any ship you prefer 👀)

happy writing, my dear 💜✨️

HEY SO REMEMBER THIS PROMPT YOU SENT ME FIVE MONTHS AGO??? Apparently it took me getting another prompt to finally come up with an idea for it, so I've gone and combined the two 😄💖 Gentle Prompts Here and Soft Prompts Here (I'll still accept prompts from both because I am a fluff machine)

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

Hob knows something is wrong as soon as his roommate enters their shared apartment and slams the door behind him.

“Morph? You all right?” Hob calls out, pausing his movie and turning to the entryway where Morpheus is angrily pulling off his shoes and shoving his coat onto the hooks. He also practically slams his keys down into the tray on the side table by the door, and Hob winces at the loud clang that echoes through the apartment. He considers asking Morpheus again if he’s all right, but decides to let his moody roommate come to him instead. 

Something is definitely very wrong if his roommate is making this much noise. Morpheus Endless is normally so quiet of a roommate that Hob doesn’t always notice when the other man is even in the apartment at the same time as him. Morpheus was so silent and unassuming that Hob had felt like he was being haunted by a ghost rather than living with a real person the first few months they started living together. Hob would be jump-scared in his own kitchen simply by turning around and finding Morpheus there right behind him. He had no idea another person could walk so quietly. The worst time had been in the bathroom, when Hob had accidentally squirted half a tube of toothpaste all over the other man’s black shirt. From that point forward, Morpheus had started knocking along the walls wherever he walked, so that Hob would know where he was at any given moment.

Still, the pale man was an ideal roommate otherwise, if not a little socially awkward at times. On top of his eerily quiet nature, it had taken months for Hob to get Morpheus to even say more than five words to him whenever they were in the same room together. Hob had first thought Morpheus was just disinterested in being friendly all together, but then one night, like a cat, his roommate peeked his head out of his room to the smell of Hob cooking dinner. Hob has since learned to let Morpheus come to him, instead of trying to impress on the man himself.

Hob’s efforts seem to now be paying off, for instead of stomping off to his bedroom to sulk about whatever it is, Morpheus instead makes his way over to the couch and plants himself directly in front of Hob’s line of vision. Hob tries to give his best reassuring smile as he stares up at the pale man.

“Bad day?” Hob asks gently. “I’m happy to listen, if you’d like. Looks like you could use a hug too.”

Morpheus doesn’t answer, he simply sways somewhat unsteadily for a few moments, before he practically collapses onto the couch. The only problem is, Hob is still very much sitting on said couch, and instead of aiming for the empty spot next to him, Hob instead finds himself with an armful of gangly limbs and untamed hair. 

“Oof,” Hob grunts as he takes on the unexpected weight. Hug it is, then. Morpheus isn’t heavy by any means, but it still takes a moment for Hob to adjust to having what is effectively an oversized cat suddenly in his lap. Hob eventually manages to wiggle his arms out from under Morpheus, before wrapping them around the pale man and pulling him against his chest. Morpheus immediately takes the cue and buries his face in Hob’s shoulder, shaking like a leaf and failing to keep his breathing even.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s all right,” Hob soothes, rubbing at Morpheus’s back. His roommate is freezing from the cold weather outside, but he’s quickly warming up the longer Hob holds him.

Hob doesn’t know what it is that’s upset Morpheus so much, but whatever it is, he’s glad that his roommate isn’t trying to deal with it alone, that they’ve come far enough in their friendship (though Morpheus has yet to call him a friend at this point) for him to show Hob this vulnerable side of him. 

The only downside to this is that this newfound vulnerability is doing absolutely nothing to help Hob’s teeny tiny, absolutely miniscule crush on his roommate. But that’s neither here nor there. Hob tucks the yearning feelings that arise from their newfound intimacy quietly behind his ribs and focuses all his energy into comforting Morpheus instead. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Hob asks Morpheus. 

A soft inhale. Then a shake of the head against his shoulder. The motion alerts Hob to the fact that his shoulder is damp, and the realization makes his heart lurch up into his throat. He wants to go out and find whoever or whatever it is that’s upset Morpheus so much and give them an introduction to his fists.

“Okay…” Hob continues, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. He’s here for comfort, not to be a white knight. “That’s fine, we don’t need to get into it. Uhm…can I readjust though? This position’s a bit uncomfortable.”

There’s a short pause, and then eventually, Hob feels Morpheus nod against his shoulder.  

Moving Morpheus is a fairly easy task. If Hob didn’t know any better, he’d think his roommate had been replaced by some sort of mannequin from the way he lets Hob manhandle him so easily. He seems to be mostly aware of what’s happening, which is good, but it’s clear he’s no in any sort of headspace for conversation just yet.

Eventually, Hob is able to rearrange them so that he’s lying with his back resting on the arm of the couch, and Morpheus is sprawled on top of him. Their legs are tangled together and Hob’s also thrown the large throw blanket over them for good measure. Morpheus, of course, reburies his head in Hob’s shoulder, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his roommate’s shoulders once more, rubbing soothing circle’s into the other man’s back.

“See, that’s better now, isn’t it?” Hob asks gently. “Nothing beats a good hug and a cuddle on the couch when you’ve had a bad day.”

Morpheus hums, but otherwise doesn’t offer any other sort of verbal reply. It’s a start.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Hob adds. “I’m just going to lay right here until you decide you want to move.”

“Then you’ll be here until tomorrow,” Morpheus croaks, his voice clearly cracked from crying.

Hob laughs and moves his hand up from Morpheus’s back to ruffle the man’s messy black hair. Morpheus groans in annoyance and bats his hand away, but otherwise does not move from his chin perch on Hob’s shoulder. Somehow, Morpheus's hair looks exactly the same.

“There you are,” Hob says, his voice fond. “Was starting to worry you’d gone mute on me.”

“No,” Morpheus says. “...I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Hob replies, then adds, “and we can stay here until tomorrow, really, if you like. But I will need to pee at some point.”

Morpheus huffs. “I suppose that is acceptable.”

“Can I tempt you with some food too?” Hob asks. “I’ll even feed it to you if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Morpheus replies. “I can feed myself.”

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and shifting himself into a more comfortable lying position. “Need anything else? Want to take a nap?”

Morpheus doesn’t answer for some time, and Hob almost thinks the man fell asleep on him already, but then his roommate readjusts his limbs as well and moves his body downwards until his head is resting on Hob’s chest. Hob wants to cry at how adorable he looks, at how right it feels that their bodies fit together so perfectly, like they were made for each other. 

“A nap sounds nice,” Morpheus finally replies, mumbling quietly into Hob’s chest. “And perhaps food when we wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hob agrees. He already knows he’s going to be ordering take-out for tonight, but come tomorrow, he’s going to make all of Morpheus’s favorite foods for the rest of his week. For the rest of his life, if he’d let him.

It doesn’t take terribly long for Morpheus to fall asleep on him, and Hob resists the urge to plant a kiss in the man’s hair, settling instead for gently rubbing at Morpheus’s back. Hob falls asleep not too long after his roommate, and when he dreams, he dreams of a home filled with warmth and joy and love.

[ximenaserrano]

Who: @lucie-newman and Mena

Where: Merrock Lighthouse

When: March 2025

After everything that went down with Lucie, Mena found herself getting emotional over the smallest of things. She wasn't sure if it was because Lucie had kept it from her for years or because she slept with her ex. She didn't know, and she didn't care because she just missed her best friend. That had been in the past and she didn't think, and she hoped there were no lingering feelings held for Jake. Mena on the other hand had started to fall for him again, especially since his return and getting to know their son.

When needing to escape or to think, she found her way over to the lighthouse, a space she, Bonnie, and Lucie would sneak on out to and hang out and smoke. But now as an adult, Mena would go on down there alone and collect her thoughts. Lighting a cigarette, she inhaled and when exhaling, she shouted into the void the get out her frustrations.

[lullaebies]

If you are still taking requests, my darling, how about a blurb of Daeron coming to KL in the days before Jaehaerys' funeral and reuniting with his siblings or momma? xoxo johannawesterling. 😘

“Daeron,” his mother's voice was the first one that welcomed him in that lonely hall. The warm brown of her eyes sad, as always sad— he hated seeing it as a child, and hated seeing it now. Alicent rushed over to him to envelop him in an embrace. “My sweet boy.”

Grandsire was the one who wrote Daeron of the news. He said his Alicent’s temperament was fickle with grief, caring for Helaena’s babes. Daeron always knew his mother would hug him upon his return, but he felt a babe himself cradled in her arms. 

“Mother, I missed you,” he held her back, feeling his own throat dry. Her hunched frame, her head on on his shoulder in defeat; his brother’s coronation should’ve given her the opportunity to find joy in a respectable posture, not a reason to wither. He hears some shout from within the hall in front of him, followed by another by a different voice, both filled with fire. “Are those…?”

“Aegon and Aemond,” Alicent answers, lifting her head. “It’s been a difficult time, and yelling is all they could do.”

Daeron doubted it. He saw the hanged people by the Tower of the Hand. No, his brothers are all flames searching to consume all, as they always were. “And Helaena?” he asked. His sister has always been calm in the midst of fury, but as things are…

“They are by her door. She has not come out of her room since…” Alicent said painfully. 

Since sweet Jaehaerys had died. The funeral was due in a few days. He came for it; he has not been here for the birth of his nephew, he missed his years in this world, but he would not miss the boy’s departure from it too. But if his mother couldn’t bear to come… No. Helaena would never forgive herself if she did not come. He knew his sister, and he knew it to be true. If his brothers’ shouts were anything to go by, they were in a similar place.

Seven hells, he was too. After all this time, returning when it was all too late to help… How could he forgive himself?

Daeron always wanted to come back home in triumph.

It was a dream of his, ever since his mother sent him to squire with Lord Ormund. To come back a knight of the order, robust and reliable for his sister and mother to be proud of and his brothers to trust in. He wanted his nephews and niece to imagine him in their heads as an uncle they could count on, to become a figure his family whole could believe in.

He was lost, away from his family for too long, but Daeron knew he can’t leave his siblings alone now. He kissed his mother’s cheek, and went ahead towards his brothers.

“After all these years, you think you can preach to me about restraint?” Aemond’s eye flashed like a dagger. He grew much taller, taller than their older brother. Aegon, on the other hand, had not grown much since their teens, and he had been hunched as it is. With a pale face, bloodshot eyes and clenched fists he had not seemed any less fiery.

“When it is all your fault, you cunt? Yes I can.” Aegon replies venomously.

When they were young, Daeron was always lost when they fought. He could rise up together with them against Rhaenyra’s boys, but when they trifled with one another, he always found himself a bystander, staying by Helaena until the storm calmed. Alas, Helaena was in the room in front of them, and from within he heard soft sobs. His mother steps forward to intervene between them, but Daeron stops her, and walks to them instead.

Aemond noticed him first, halting at his sight. Aegon stepped toward Aemond, as if to yell at him some more, but Daeron brought a hand to hold his shoulder. Aegon nearly snapped his shoulder towards him to hit him, but Daeron stopped his hand too.

“Brothers,” he called them, his hold on Aegon’s wrist growing looser. “Stop it.”

Something in him snapped when he saw their faces closely. Aemond looked as if he had not slept a week, Aegon looked as if his blood had been running cold for a moon turn, hair a mess even if he wore a crown. They both try to pick themselves up, upon his arrival, Aemond fixing his gloves, and Aegon clearing his throat.

“You’ve grown tall, you twerp,” Aegon said, looking up to him. “It is good to see you. But don’t get involved.”

Daeron frowned. “Don’t tell me that. I’m your brother. I can talk to my brothers,” Daeron then looked at the door. “And my sister.”

Aemond shook his head. Some shame came upon his face. “She doesn’t want to see us, Daeron.”

What she didn’t want to see never mattered, though. Helaena often told him she saw strange things in her mind. When they were children, when she sent letters, it was often all the same. Sometimes, those were things she did not want to see at all. She managed through it all; she was the bravest, even when she cried waking up from a dream. She needed to see them, instead of further falling into loneliness.

“So we leave her to the darkness of her room instead of showing her she is not alone?” 

“I don’t know how to convince her out, Daeron. I tried,” Aegon said. “Aemond tried. Mother tried. Grandsire tried. Jaehaera and Maelor..” he trailed off. 

Daeron looked at the door again. His sister was never stupid, she knew they were outside. He knew she was listening, too. If she heard them, she only heard strife and more frustration, things she had likely enough of within her. Whenever Daeron played with Lord Ormund’s children, it was always similar with his one daughter, Bethany; if her brothers quarrelled and brawled while she was upset, she would lock herself in her rooms until she felt safe to get out. She wouldn’t go out to thundering knocks and threatening yells, but to safety.

Daeron didn’t know if Helaena would ever feel safe again. Not after all that happened. But if anyone was to give her hope it was them. He remained steadfast in his stare against his brothers.

“When ships are lost at night, we light the Hightower’s beacon until they find their way back.”

Turning around, Daeron knocked on the door, in an odd rhythm. A rhythm Helaena taught him when he was around eight, and plagued with nightmares of plucked eyes and stormy seas. When mother could only take care of Aemond, Helaena told him she would never turn him away should he come by her door. 

“It is like the summer songs of cicadas, stuck to their trees. They sing when they know when they feel safe.”

The sobs from within the room suddenly quietened. No rustling came from within, but it was a change. He knocked on the door again. Sniffles came in response. His brothers stared at him, and for once, he met them in an equal gaze. 

Biting his lip, Aegon brought his clenched first forward to the door too. He looked at Daeron, and they knocked together. More sniffles came, but they sounded closer. Aemond seemed to be most skeptical, but with both results and a glare from Aegon, they knocked again together, all three.

It felt like forever, until they heard something being moved from behind the door. The heavy door opens only slightly, but the sniffles are suddenly all clear. The light finally shone on her; Helaena’s face was red, her eyes were glassy, her hair unkempt and her dress crumpled upon her figure, but she was there.

She saw them all, and tears fell down her cheek again. “I…”

It was not clear, amongst the three of them, who came to hug her first. All Daeron knew is that they ended in sibling embrace. She fell into sobs again in their arms, this time holding them dearly for life.

We will not let go.

[suguwu]

The winner takes it all x LLO

oh. yeah. that fits almost too well. this made me feel so bad for rin klsdjfsldjf he's really destined to lose to sae in this particular situation. poor thing.

[alarakcplan]

starter for: @olivia-harris location: downtown, outside of beauty & the beach salon

With her life unraveling around her, Alara desperately needed some TLC. She’d booked a cut and color, along with a mani-pedi combo at Beauty & the Beach, and spent the day indulging in a little self-care.

By the time she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she felt significantly lighter than when she’d first walked in. Hoping to extend the feeling, she headed toward downtown for some window shopping, tucking her hands into her coat pockets against the cold.

Rounding the corner of the building, she collided with someone. “Shit, so so—” The words caught in her throat as recognition hit.

It wasn’t often Alara felt unsure of herself, but knowing now that Liv was Colt’s girlfriend, their interaction at New Year’s felt wildly inappropriate—something that had weighed on her in the weeks since.

She instinctively took a step back, as if putting physical distance between them would help keep her from getting drawn back into Liv’s intoxicating presence. Forcing a weak smile, she managed a pretty pathetic, “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you coming.” Literally and figuratively.

[lokvadnod]

Hi there! I just found this blog and omg I've found my people lol. I just read your response to an ask requesting how one of our yautja boys would react to their human going down on them for the first time, which was incredibly hot and also hilarious, and I had to ask - do you envision the same sort of reaction from a female yautja? Because not to get too into it here in your asks unprompted - but if there's one way this gal wants to go out its with her head between Those Thighs TM

You and I are in the same boat, friend. (Says a creepy voice from the shadows as I rise from the grave with this post lol)

(My take on this with a male yautja can be found here.)

I kinda feel like a female Yautja would be a lot more calm, a lot more logical, and way more permissive from the jump. A Yautja female doesn't have to worry about an appendage being gnawed off, and she certainly doesn't have any perturbation about your oral structure, as dull and unthreatening as it looks. I don't think female-receiving oral is a big thing for Yautja, (though it's far more probable than its male counterpart) but maybe they engage in tongue action from time to time with their own species. I do, however, think that the idea of lips, blunt teeth, and a wider, much smoother tongue would interest a female yautja enough to make her want to try it from the minute the topic is raised...

Mature content below the cut

Terrifying could be a very fitting adjective for your situation for some. A less seasoned human in the fine art of romancing deadly extraterrestrials would probably have bowed out long before now, before a massive, clawed hand could find purchase on the back of your fragile, tiny head.

She's 8 and a half feet of nothing but thew and venom. More muscle than you've ever seen packed onto a curvy frame, with muscular pectorals and the nicest ass and hips you've ever seen. And it's all wrapped in a pretty package of dappled greens and browns, textured skin pulled over the planes of her body in such a right way that it isn't fair.

She's absolutely gorgeous... you know, in her own viscerally terrifying way.

Currently a grunting, growling mess, all teeth and fire-eyes as she writhes beneath you, she's even more alluring. Like a needy predator with deadly claws, she grinds just this side of too hard into your face with a rolling insistence that sparks at your need to provide and please her, wanton enough to inspire a succinct pride within you that you are the source of such a massive, intimidating galactic predator's pleasure.

"Right there." She grits through her teeth, somehow making it sound like a plea and a demand in one. Tree trunk thighs tighten around your head, careful not to pop it like a too-ripe watermelon, and she goes completely still.

Convergent evolution - if such concepts can be applied interplanetarily- is a magnificent thing. Darwin, or what dust is left of him after those centuries past, should be doing backflips in his grave...

In two beats, she's gone, mewling to the stars on the other side of the tempered window in wild bursts of feral pleasure, praying to her brutal gods in a fraternal echo of any human ever to be in her position. Every muscle, previously taut enough that it felt like you could be doing unspeakable things to a boulder, whips along the complete axis of it's motion, spasming in wild bursts of pleasure. As she comes down, panting and growling, she goes limp, only exerting enough energy to haul you up along her frame so you can rest atop her.

On your lips, linger the alien taste of her release, like something not quite familiar enough for a name or a likeness. Gently, she caresses you, tapered claws trailing up and down your back as you rise and fall in time with her massive chest.

"You..." she pants, and you're struck anew with pride at how unraveled you can get her, gruff and unmovable as she usually is. "You are quite skilled with that mouth of yours."

Compliments as such are not unheard of from her but they do fall sparingly and so you soak this one up with a grin. Those shark-like eyes that you've grown to love wander over your face, mapping the topography as if trying to discern for herself what makes your facial structure so pleasurable.

"Consider my ego stroked," you joke, and those eyes swipe up to bore into yours.

"You would like something else stroked." It's not a question, it's a statement she knows to be true and she gives you no time to answer before she rolls and she's on top of you.

Already breathless, you chuckle and bloom beneath her, body spreading under her wandering claws that you know from experience she can use so skillfully...

[the-starry-skye]

cassie & sage earth dates requested by the lovely @4rainynite

"In the books the girls learned a new Earth hobby so - for the first one Sage teaches Cassie tie-dye and for the second Cassie teaches Sage how to ice skate."

[lcngstcryshcrt]

@repurposed-flynn

"Well, what are we going to do?" Max asked, putting his glass back on the low coffee table that filled the space between the two couches in the little apartment.

He frowned at Flynn - Eugene - once his nemesis, now his... Only friend, honestly. Their wild dash to Evermore, the first few days of stumbling through the town trying to get housing and jobs and find their feet, and finally, finally planting themselves and realizing that the person they were there for didn't even know who either of them were.

And worst of all, Maude was here. The woman who had originally put them all on this path by stealing away a baby girl with golden hair.

"We can't leave, so there's no way of telling if the amnesia is just because of this place or something that woman's doing."

[hotasfahrenheit]

[The Sign, 1.09]