#blue mountain blend

[beraldocoffee01]

Coffee Machines Repairs in Melbourne And More

Coffee is at the core of our business and all of our technicians' training, it is in our best interest to ensure that your equipment functions properly. Our 35 years in business have given us unparalleled expertise and experience. This includes not only the level of our coffee machine in Melbourne service but also the various types.

[jamaicamocha]

Robot Labour and the Ethics of Automation in the Coffee Industry

The introduction of Tesla robots raises profound ethical questions, particularly around the concept of robot labour. If machines can replace humans in physically demanding jobs, such as coffee plantation labour or cafe work, where does this leave us ethically and economically? Tesla Optimus robot as a waitor In a future where robots harvest coffee beans, transport goods, and even prepare your…

[lostbluejayart]

✨A gentle lamb bleats in a single call, sweetly, meekly. The wind carries its voice through the fluttering of leaves and over mountain tops, across meadows where baby deer dwell under the shadow of their mothers.

Precious lambs you are, Sweet whispers...✨

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: Two beautiful dark skinned sisters who are twins are seen looking softly at the viewer, resting in a meadow like area. They are wearing long white dresses. with short puffy sleeves on their shoulders. One sister relaxes her head on her sister's lap while the other supports her sisters head. A little baby lamb also lay beside the twins, one ear up while the other ear is down. The lamb's white wool almost blends into the white dress's the sisters are wearing. In the background,the sky is a soft shade of baby blue, no clouds are visible. And there is a mountain in the background that stretches to both sides of the picture and a few trees at a distance.]

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: captivity, obsessive behavior, made up fantasy lore, mind fuck (?)

He never calls for you - he only ever sends his servants, poor, confused little creatures of the night once lost just like you. They gather at your door like an army of darkness, scratching and biting at the delicate wooden frame, howling piteously with full chest until you're faced with the choice of either opening the door, or suffocating yourself with the fluffy white pillow. You give in after what feels like an appropriate time - not too soon as to feed his ever - growing ego, yet not so late that the creatures' heads start to roll under your nose.

You slowly walk down the endless corridor, refusing to look at anything for longer than a second - even as it calls to you with the sweetest voice of desire. Everything is enchanted to the very last candle on the wall. The countless paintings depict wealth and opulence beyond your wildest dreams, an adundance of riches upon riches, of honeycomb amber and pure green emeralds. The silk carpet is as soft as a dandelion just before it bursts open, and the crystal chandelier embarks such a soft light the human eye can never properly adjust to the tender shades of yellow and blue. The castle is tempting you with every passing breath - begging you to stay here forever. Begging you to love it, and everyone inside - especially His Majesty, the Lord.

You try to calm your disheveled thoughts as you carefully open the heavy gates to the throne room. Your breath hitches deep into your throat as your eyes gaze upon the feast spread out before you, and suddenly you're starving like a wolf. By now you should know better than to let yourself be lured in by magic - but the pull is too magnetic and you quickly find yourself stepping closer to the piled up table. You take in the smell with unsatiated hunger - golden apples baked inside fine sugar crystals, tender deer fillet dripping with berry sauce and smokey mushrooms, the sort you can only find inside an enchanted forrest. Cream puffs and mountains of stripped ice soaked in jam and vanilla essence upon stacks of fruit and more goblets of red wine than you can count. And yet he remains ever the centerpiece of the vision.

"You're late, mona grece tide*." His voice slowly fills the room with its overbearing softness, always on the verge of dropping into silence. It's painful to look at him - as if everything about the mythical man was created a touch too symmetrical, to the point where the sharp features all blend together. His lips are too full, his eyes - if the golden slits beneath his brows may be called that, are way too bright under the sun, and they reflect a time you don't wish to remember. And his hair is so long and pale, so very white and smooth, you have to stop your hands from reaching into the wounded transparency of his wild locks, less you want to lose a finger or two.

"Tidea." Khaal snaps his finger more aggressively when you don't respond to his call the first time. You squint in an attempt to block the light coming from the tiny cracks in his face - the birth lines of his dragon. "Sit down. Don't make me come to you."

Tide. Tidea. Love, as you eventually learnt the meaning of the word in Lohemian. My little love, the words still rest on his tongue, because what are you if not a small, fragile human?

"I'd hate to inconvenience you so, my Lord." You eventually bite back, breaking out of the trance. Slipping in and out of consciousness and constantly guessing your surroundings is taking a toll on you, but you'll lose your sanity before you give into his madness. "Touching a filthy human like myself will surely sully your pretty golden flakes." You smile with venom, tearing into the nearest sun-pear. He watches the juice drip down your chin with angry narrowed eyes, and with another swift snap of his fingers he's standing before you, towering above.

"Insolent child, you are." He grips your face carelessly, inspecting it from all sides before finally materializing a clean cloth and wiping you clean. "You're foolish just like any other human." His brows twist together with anger, but his expression remains angelic to the untrained eye. "I can give you everything you've ever wanted. The sun at your feet, the moon on your shoulders. All the knowledge of the world." His fingers suddenly stop rubbing along your jawline and his gaze falls upon your cold, quivering lips. "All I ask in return is your loyalty." His sharp nail begins stroking your lower lip. It doesn't draw blood, but you wish it would. You can't stand the anticipation - the moment before the violence entails.

"Don't let your eyes wander. Gift me your warmth." The dragon king pulls you closer to his chest, and all fight leaves you. His form is perfectly defined with thousand metal - like flakes, one on top of the other like a flawless shield. It's probably a great weapon on the battlefield - but it lacks the naked vulnerability of human skin, and it's so cold it hurts to stand close, much less touch it directly. "Look at me!" He suddenly roars, and you fall back from the sheer power of his voice.

Everything hurts - as if the floor is suddenly melting, you feel like you will never stop falling down.

"I can't. It's too painful." You whisper weakly between hoarse broken sobs threatening to tear off your heart in two. "I wasn't made for this world, f-for your... world." You bite your lips, averting eyes to the ground. "Everything in you wants me dead. Your love will kill me." You whimper, squeezing your left hand to your chest. The dead weight of the broken bone is pulling you down, luring you deeper into sleep.

"I'd like to see you try, mon'tidea." He sinks down to your level, quick as a shadow. Stealing a kiss as light as a sparrow, he pushes you down. "Die as many times as you want. You'll always end up here in my arms." His lips are grazing your ear, warm breath hitting your neck. Another illusion, you realize - his body can't create warmth. It's simply reflecting your warmth back to you. "Because once you enter my realm, there's no coming back."

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where the triplets and Y/N have a small 'coloring drawings date' back in Boston

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

It was a chilly Boston afternoon, and the cozy kitchen of the Sturniolo triplets' childhood home radiated warmth. The black and white marble counter was covered in a colorful array of pencils and printed drawings ready to be filled in.

Matt, Nick, Chris, and Y/N sat together, each absorbed in their masterpieces, while an assortment of completed drawings, taped with pride, decorated the fridge nearby - just like the one back in Los Angeles, creating a gallery of memories they'd crafted every time they came to Boston.

Y/N was nestled close to Matt, sharing a single pair of earphones that played their shared playlist, mix of indie tunes, and a few songs that made them laugh as they lip-synced together.

Every so often, Y/N would pause her coloring just to press a gentle kiss onto Matt's shoulder or cheek, and every time she did it, Matt’s face would light up with a shy smile, his hand instinctively reaching over to brush her fingers, squeezing them lightly before returning to his coloring.

Across the table, Nick was squinting at his drawing, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he carefully filled in the skin of the pokémons with a vibrant mix of yellows, blues and purples. Chris, with a look of intense focus, was working on an abstract swirl of colors, occasionally nudging Nick to make him mess up just a bit, causing laughter between them.

"Hey, don't mess with my work!" Nick huffed, shielding his paper from Chris, shooting him a dirty look. "Fucking moron."

Chris snorted.

"Oh, come on, Nick, I’m just adding some flair to it!" He laughed, his tone playful, but he left Nick’s drawing alone, deciding instead to lean closer to Y/N and Matt, peeking at their work, accidentally hitting some pencils to the floor. "What are you two coloring over there?" He teased, a soft smile on his face as he watched Y/N and Matt too close, almost blending into each other, the identical maroon sweaters disguising who was who.

Y/N grinned, lifting her drawing to show a sunset over mountains, shaded in soft pinks and oranges.

"It’s our little Boston sunset for the fridge gallery."

Matt smiled brightly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand as he glanced at her drawing.

"It’s going to he the prettiest drawing in there, babe." He murmured, leaning down to place a quick, sweet kiss on her temple.

"You're so disgusting." Chris huffed, rolling his eyes playfully before going back to his own paper.

Y/N stuck her tongue out playfully in response, her eyes gleaming with a happiness that was contagious.

As the playlist continued, Matt and Y/N swapped colored pencils back and forth, murmuring softly to each other about which colors went best with the others.

After a while, Nick stood up, lowering his grey headphones, heading to the fridge, and scanning their growing gallery.

"Alright, let's see what new masterpieces we're adding today." Nick announced, carefully peeling off a piece of tape to stick Chris's vibrant butterfly next to his own pokémons drawing on the fridge door. "At this point, we’re not even gonna see the fridge anymore." He grinned, smoothing each piece into place with a bit of pride.

Without missing a beat, Chris turned to Matt and Y/N, an exaggerated impatience in his voice.

"C'mon, lovebirds, finish up so we can add your little sunset next to my work of art."

Matt scoffed, rolling his eyes as he passed a glance at Chris.

"If we’re being honest, yours doesn’t even deserve a spot." He muttered with a smirk, dodging Chris’s halfhearted swipe at him. "Oh, I'm gonna end you-"

"Boys, no fighting near the fridge!" Came Mary Lou’s voice from the couch in the other room. Both brothers froze, biting back laughter as they stood straight. Nick stifled a chuckle, sharing an amused look with Y/N, who shook her head at them all, her smile soft.

"Alright, Matt, focus." Y/N said, tugging him gently by his sweater sleeve to bring his attention back to the counter. "Before I finish this sunset all by myself."

Matt let himself be pulled down with a playful grin, settling beside her once more.

"Fine, fine." He relented, leaning in close, their heads nearly touching as they dove back into their coloring, whispering and swapping pencils as if the world outside didn’t exist.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

A/N: I had this idea after seeing Nick's stories yesterday, and I know it's an ass, but I liked the concept 😭✋🏻

[vaspider]

An important definition of terms:

As far as I'm concerned, an assimilationist is someone who believes that queer people must assimilate in order to advance the cause of queer rights. An assimilationist creates a dress code for marches like the Mattachine Society did, fights against queer self-expression at Pride because "it holds back the movement," and believes that the only way for us to move forward is for all queers to live as cishet people do, but with little rainbow flags taped on.

An assimilationist is not "someone who wants the functions and institutions of cishet society to be available to queer people." It's someone who believes the only way to live is assimilated into cishet society, and anything else "holds us back." It's someone who wants Sylvia and Marsha to march at the back, and who prizes cishet aesthetic over practical liberation.

A liberationist is someone who believes that queer liberation is not contingent upon public performance of identity.

Let me repeat that, so we're absolutely clear: a liberationist believes that queer liberation is not contingent upon public performance of identity. ANY IDENTITY.

That means a sufficiently cishet identity and a sufficiently "respectable" identity, but it also means a sufficiently radical identity. If you actually believe in queer liberation, you don't just believe in liberation for people who look, act, and believe like you. You believe in liberation for people who genuinely want to get married, have babies by IVF and live in the suburbs as well as for people who want to live childfree on an anarchist trans commune/Llama farm.

I hear people use the term "Assimilationist" and "Assimilationist Victories" to dismiss as meaningless those victories that are insufficiently radical for their tastes, and that to me is only proof that those people are not actually liberationists in any meaningful way. In liberation, there must be room for people who actually do just want to get married and live quiet, content lives going to their kid's baseball games.

The difference between Assimilationist thought and Liberationist thought cannot be simply replacing "we need to blend in" with "we need to stick out." It cannot simply replace "we must be integrated into cishet society" with "we cannot ever integrate into cishet society and anything which permits us to do that if we so choose is insufficiently liberationist." That's the organizational equivalent of yelling YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD, and I'm fucking over it, y'all.

My liberation doesn't have to be your liberation. Your liberation doesn't have to look like mine. What matters is that we are helping each other up the mountain and making long-term plans to get to where we can, and that we recognize that every choice we make is going to leave someone behind, and we account for that and plan for that so we don't leave them behind forever.

We cannot regard gay marriage or gays in the military or instituting a nationwide right to transition or any of our future goals as an endpoint. They are only goals part of the way up the mountain.

We don't get to the top until we are all free to live as we choose without government or societal interference or sanction, and without having to perform an identity for those rights and respect. The freedom to be ourselves must include the right to "blue hair and pronouns" but it also must include the right to "your kid's school plays and a duplex in a suburb." The latter is not an assimilationist lifestyle unless you try to enforce it on everyone.

I'm so, so tired of people acting like they're radical thinkers for poo-pooing the civil rights advances that the community has achieved through literally decades of work as "assimilationist victories." That's not clever, cute, or correct. Every. Single. One. Of those victories is written in tears and sweat and blood. Every single one is wrapped in the funeral shrouds of people who died fighting for it. Every single one was achieved not by assimilationists alone, but neither by people who think the only true victories are the ones sufficiently pure in their leftist credentials.

It is extremely possible and indeed likely that if you judge queers by their aesthetic, you will miss partnering with some of the most radical people and shackle your movement to people who cloak regressive politics in radical language. I've heard some truly noxious words come out of mouths framed by snakebites, and I've known extremely radical thinkers who look like your grandma. And I gotta tell you, in those local elections which keep school boards free from Moms For Liberty? The latter are useful people for liberationists to know and have in our camp, those people who think like liberationists but look like your grandma or your auntie.

Enforcement of aesthetic as a condition of liberation is assimilationist thought. It doesn't matter if the assimilation is to pink hair and tattoos or polo shirts and khakis - enforcement of aesthetic and philosophy as a condition of liberation is assimilationist thought. It's just replacing one kind of demanded conformity with another, and when we say "none of us are free until all of us are free," that also means free to be fucking boring if we want to, full stop.

We talk a lot about how much work goes into being disabled, how much work we have to put into making appointments, and fighting bureaucracy, but this is also true of queer life. Freedom comes with ease, with being easily able to update paperwork, with being easily able to find employment and housing, with being easily able to create the family structures we want to live in. When all of us can wake up in the morning assured of security in our beds, food in our bellies, meds in our med trays as needed, and a day ahead of us filled with chosen purpose and chosen meaning, which ends with us back in the bed of our choice at the end of the day, fulfilled in purpose and secure in our homes and chosen families, then we are free, and not before.

You may notice a seeming contradiction in this, in that my liberationist philosophy has room in it for the very people who are currently annoying the fuck out of me by demanding allegiance to a leftist aesthetic over practical liberation (that is, a movement based in harm reduction and long-term strategy over adherence to leftist purity of thought).

This is not a contradiction.

It is not a bug. It is a feature. My liberationist ideals mean that people have to have the right to be wrong without their liberty hinging on being right, that's all. :)

[officialdaydreamer00]

Aimless outing

in which you took your significant other out for a ride.

pairing: idia shroud x yuu/reader

contents: kinda short oneshot, lower case intended, this is just a spoonful of sugar tbh, everyone thank deuce for lending us his blastcycle, kinda ooc idia? idk, actually based on a screenshot in the game i'm playing and i love that lmao, reader is referred to as yuu, gender neutral reader and narrated with you/yours

★ the daydreamer speaks — my second entry for my tumblr older sibling @cloudcountry's sweet shroud summer 2024!! the worms are worming and i'm on a roll hehe ^-^

do i tag? yes, i do. my main idia liker: @edith-is-a-cat, others: @identity-theft-101 @keii-starz @xen-blank @loser-jpg @lemonchuu @dove-da-birb @twistwonderlanddevotee @escha-evenstar

remember to comment or reblog if you enjoy my work!!

"Yuu-shi, where are we going!?"

"Somewhere, anywhere! Does it really matter?"

a slow sunday and the lack of immediate tasks in your schedule was all you needed. and what better way to spend the day with your beloved than taking him out for a ride?

deuce was kind enough to lend you his blastcycle for this little trip of yours, wishing you good luck and all, and you've already gotten permission to go out from the headmage the day before, as much as you hated his gut. meanwhile, ortho was doing his best to get idia waiting outside of campus, and making sure he didn't second guess his desicions before you arrive.

and that led us to where you were now, going kilometres per hour as if gliding through the highway, feeling the cool wind of a chilly afternoon excitedly picking up your hair as the sun retreated behind the mountains. you loved the thrill it gave you, if the bright wide grin on your face was of any indications.

idia, on the other hand, was a bit overwhelmed. with his arms coiled tightly around your waist, hands trembling ever so slightly, he hid his face in your hair, not daring even a peek at the blurring surroundings.

"It's not a ride if you can't see what made it so fun in the first place, Idia! Just give it a try, then we can go back if you want."

idia stayed quiet, weighing his options. he could ask you to go back and return to the monotony of his life, safe yet nothing special. or, he could continue on this ride, just you and him on the road to an ambiguous destination.

he opened his eyes, widening as they laid on the most beautiful painting of dusk mother nature had drawn. white, pink, and orange blended together so harmoniously on a darkening blue canvas. rows of clouds lined the sky, bouncing around the little lights left of the sun onto the crashing waves the sea created.

his breath was taken away.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

idia could only muttered a soft 'yeah' as his eyes glued at picturesque scenery, taking in all he could for he wasn't sure he was going to see such a sight again. his tight grip on you slowly loosened, now only wrapping around your waist like a warm hug you would give him on chilly days.

the moon soon made its appearance as the canvas of nature was painted black, stars glimmering from beyond like diamonds in the sky. the two of you was making your way back to campus, with the blastcycle's headlights and idia's hair illuminating the road.

idia found the night sky beautiful, a lot different from dusk, but he loved it all the same.

it was a fleeting sensation of a thrill so different than what his heart was used to, but it was welcoming, a comfort even. especially when you were there with him, laughing without a care and genuinely living in the moment.

it was a memory he wished to never forget.

[captainlexapro]

happy hughesapalooza day to all who celebrate!

acrylic on paper *click for quality*

art notes for those interested: wanted this to look very poster-like. Took inspo from lolla and other music poster designs. Made the background color blend from red for the devils to blue for the canucks, with purple in the middle. Mountains, vancouver skyline, and rogers in the center. Little sticks and pucks in the corners. stars correspond to their draft position. michigan at the top.

[madeleineengland]

INTERNATIONAL SNOW LEOPARD DAY 🐱 (23rd october)

Snow Leopards are often called the 'ghosts of the mountains' due to their elusive nature & their ability to blend seamlessly into their icy, high-altitude habitats. Their thick fur, large paws and long tail are adaptations to the harsh environment.

Snow leopards live in the mountains of Central Asia. Their range of distribution is over 1.8 million km2, with the largest share in China, followed by Mongolia and India, but only 3,920-6,390 individuals remain in the wild now.

Let's celebrate them but also raise awareness on Conservation and Protection of these animals. The snow leopard acts as an indicator of the health of the mountain ecosystem in which they live. Sadly they face many threats in the wild including habitat loss due to climate change and poaching.

Here a useful link to donate: https://snowleopardconservancy.org/

Curiosity:

○ snow leopards can have between 1 and 5 cubs.

○ The cubs have blue eyes for the first few weeks.

○ Snow leopards parents don't raise their cubs together. The male leaves right after the mating.

○ The mother usually warps her long furry tail around the cubs like a fluffy blanket.

○ Due to the shape of their throats, snow leopards cannot roar.

[halcy0n-skies]

synopsis: gojo likes buying flowers for you.

a/n: just something short! Maybe I'll do a series of sorts with this and a few other characters.

When it comes to flowers, Gojo Satoru is always one to go big. No matter the season, the occasion, or your mood, you can always expect a large bouquet that’ll take up half of whatever counter you place it on.

When it’s spring, growing into warm summer, he’ll spend some time browsing through different local florists as he walks home. Hundreds of people pass him by as he scrolls through different business names…that is, before he habitually walks into the same one he always goes to. The light ding of the furin chime swaying in the wind easily blends with the high-pitched ring of the brass bell hung above the door.

Summer is always his favourite time to come in here, mainly because everything smells so sweet. Handmade bouquets burst from each shelf, a multi-coloured tapestry of amber, scarlet, lilac, and cerulean. It’s styled in light woods and deep reds, not unlike the shinto shrine near Tokyo Tower. The first few times he came in here, he was somewhat overwhelmed: it was like they stuffed every flower field in Furano into one room.

A surprising feat, considering who he is.

However, the more he visited, the better he got. Both with picking up what flowers you liked, and when the shop got a new stock.

Considering it’s not public knowledge, they’re always surprised to see his face in the early morning when they’re still unloading and sorting it.

(He says he has a work thing earlier than usual, but, in reality, he’s already in the store picking out flowers for you.)

Aside from it smelling so damn good–he did say mainly, didn’t he?–he loves coming here in summer because there is always an unsuspecting student working a summer job. If he were completely honest, other than seeing the pure joy on your face when you receive them, either in person or through photos if he’s away–though he always prefers seeing your reactions in real time–the reaction from the florists is practically his favourite part.

So, when he casually slips out his credit card and asks for a bouquet of a hundred roses, he has to steel himself not to smile too hard or laugh at how far the kid’s jaw drops.

It gets even better when he asks for some ribbon–the expensive stuff lined with silver thread. No matter the flowers, he almost always goes for light blue or white. It may or may not fuel his already large ego when you compliment it.

Sure, it’s somewhat awkward to take home–even with all the times he’s bought big ones like this and decided to carry them back himself–but nothing compares to the unmistakably dumbfounded–yet happy–look on your face.

He’s bought them for you many times, but your reaction never changes. It never fails to make his heart swell.

It’s not always roses, though. He’s trawled through enough terrible romance films over the years to know that it gets old.

When he sees the old ones wilting in their vase–both of you having left them long enough to get as much out of them as possible–he’ll find some time to walk down to that same florist shop and note down all of your favourite flowers. He’s pretty sure the usual workers have got a list or something in the back rooms of what he usually orders, because each time he does, they just raise an eyebrow and state, “Fifteen minutes, sir.” with a curt nod.

Never in his life did he think he’d become that predictable.

In winter, when Tokyo’s goliath skyscrapers seem more ice-topped mountains than buildings, and when the sakura’s branches are heavy with pearly snow, he’ll always go for something colourful.

While he doesn’t mind the cold, finds the snow–on the increasingly rare occasion that it does snow–quite delightful, especially when it gets cold enough to give him an easy excuse to cuddle with you on the couch, he hates how dreary everything ends up looking. Knows you aren’t too fond of it, too.

So, he happily brightens your apartment with flowers: the large red roses disappear, and are instead replaced with small, soft memories of summer.

Seasons aside, your favourite time to receive flowers is when he hasn’t been home in a while. Rest assured, surrounded by the ceramic roofs of Kyoto or the soft sand of Okinawa, he’s thinking of you.

Designing a bouquet based on floral meanings is rare for him. Very rare. He sits down with the florist and their archaic leather book which knows the words inscribed on each petal of each flower, and hand arranges it himself. Even if he complains he doesn’t know shit about it, they always turn out beautiful.

If you were to ask him why he doesn’t do it often–since a gift with an intricate meaning hand crafted by himself is such a thoughtful way to show his love–he’d say he doesn’t need complex, well thought presents to show how he feels.

Your heart may be the most complicated organ in your body–he knows it each time he listens to the thrum of your blood–and the gentle hum of your soul may never truly be touched by anything but his eyes, but he knows his affections have no need to be as elaborate.

Loving you is easy. He hopes his roses and red carnations let you know that.

[narcissistcookbook]

Is there an origin behind Sugar In My Coffee??

Yeah! So I met this guy from Nashville called Michael and Michael loved coffee - he was introduced to me as the coffee guy in fact. He owned a couple of coffee shops in the city - he literally had a tattoo of a coffee mug on his neck next to his face! The guy liked coffee. He offered me some and I was like "nah you're alright man, I'm more of a hot chocolate man myself" and he said "hot chocolate? What are you? Fucking nine years old??? You just haven't had the right kind of coffee yet! Have you tried Java Arabica?" I said "no". "Have you tried Jamaican Blue Mountain?" I said "no". "Have you tried--" I said "Let me stop you there. I don't want to be rude, but this shouldn't be so hard to understand. I don't like coffee!" So he said "I want to show you something," so me and him and his friends we got in his car and we drove outside the city to this warehouse, and he said "today's your lucky day kid. Today you're going to try my coffee. It's the freshest in the state, it's going to change your shit right up." And I thought, oh, this is it. This is it man. Everything is going to change. I'm going to be able to go for a coffee with people like a fucking adult for once. I'm going to be able to say "Well you know me, I like the fruity chocolatey taste of a good Nicaraguan blend as much as the next person but I try to avoid it, I hear the multinationals put a lot of pressure on the farmers' unions". He says nothing. He just hands me a cup of coffee. It smells amazing. I close my eyes, I put it to my lips, I take a tentative sip... tastes like shit.

[hunkpossession0]

Saw these two hunks chilling on our mountain trip, and me and my friend were eager to steal their bodies. The plan was simple: wait until they were alone, use the enchanted stones we found last summer, and swap our souls with theirs. I ended up in the body of the long-haired one, and my friend took over the other.

Feeling the weight of his muscles, the power in his limbs, was exhilarating. My long hair swayed in the breeze, and I couldn't help but admire my reflection in the nearby stream. My friend was having a similar moment, flexing and laughing with newfound joy.

"Guess we should head back to camp," I said, my voice now deep and rich. We walked back, exploring the sensations, the way our new bodies moved. Every step felt different, more grounded, more alive.

As night fell, we set up a small fire. The flames cast shadows that danced across our chiseled features. My friend, in his new body, couldn't stop touching his biceps, marveling at the strength.

"Let's see what else these bodies can do," he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I felt a rush of excitement, a thrill at the possibilities.

We moved closer, exploring each other's new forms. His hands ran down my back, tracing the contours of muscle. I reciprocated, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the tautness of his abs.

"I've never felt anything like this," I whispered, leaning in. Our bodies were drawn to each other, an irresistible force pulling us together.

We spent the night discovering every inch, every sensation heightened by the unfamiliarity of our new forms. It was as if we were learning to be human all over again, but this time, with a layer of intense attraction we hadn't anticipated.

By morning, we lay exhausted but satisfied, tangled in each other's arms. The mountain air felt different, clearer, as if we had become a part of it. The hunks' bodies were ours now, and with them, a new understanding of who we could be.

"I guess we're stuck like this," my friend said, a hint of amusement in his voice. I looked at him, feeling a deep connection, something that went beyond just the physical.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Body 1: The Long-Haired Hunk (Me)

Standing tall at 6'3", this body exudes an effortless blend of strength and grace. The long, flowing hair cascades down to broad shoulders, catching the light with a hint of natural wave. His piercing blue eyes are framed by strong, angular features—a chiseled jawline and high cheekbones that give him a rugged yet refined look.

His muscular build is evident with every movement. Defined pecs, sculpted abs, and powerful arms showcase years of dedication to fitness. His skin is sun-kissed, hinting at a life spent outdoors, and there's a confident swagger in his stride. Tattoos snake along his right arm, adding an edge to his otherwise classic good looks. This body is a perfect blend of warrior and model, turning heads effortlessly.

Body 2: The Short-Haired Hunk (My Friend)

Even more imposing, this body stands at 6'5" with a massively muscular build that demands attention. His short, dark hair is stylishly tousled, revealing a pair of intense, hazel eyes that seem to see right through you. His face is equally handsome, with a strong nose and a slightly cleft chin giving him a distinguished air.

His physique is the epitome of power, with thick, bulging biceps, a broad, barrel-like chest, and legs like tree trunks. Every muscle is defined and exaggerated, creating a look that borders on the heroic. His skin is a warm olive tone, suggesting a heritage of sun-soaked climates, and he carries himself with a natural, easy confidence.

A few faint scars on his knuckles and forearms hint at an adventurous past, adding an element of intrigue. This body radiates a dynamic energy, as if always ready for the next challenge, and his infectious smile suggests he's more than willing to take it on with you.

[rahuratna]

In another universe, you and I ...

(But it's crack): PART 1

Summary: A short series in which the highly attractive sorcerers of JJK find themselves in an alternate universe with you (with a twist).

Part 1 includes:

Top Model! Gojo who meets you at a party. In spite of your instant chemistry, he harbours a dark secret ...

Naval Captain! Nanami, who has been hunted for years by his nemesis, the white leviathan who aims to show him his giant member. Will you stand by his side?

Genre: Humour, parody, crack

Warnings: sexual and suggestive content.

(I)

"You need a date."

"Mei Mei, I don't have a single free minute in my schedule at the -"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. You need to get fucked."

The coffee you've just taken a sip of diverts somewhere in the depths of your nasal passages, leaving you sputtering. Dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, you glance around the cafe while Mei Mei stirs her flat white, amused.

"Something wrong?"

"You know I'm not ... good at that kind of thing."

"A mystery, to be sure. You're an eyecatcher, even in that coat."

"What's wrong with my coat?"

"Listen." She leans forward, the crook of her lips conspiratorial. "I'm having a little get together at my new place. Kind of a housewarming. And I'm inviting some people I work with. You should come."

Mei Mei was an avante garde fashion photographer, known for her theatric sets. If she was hinting at what you thought she was, then ...

"You're telling me that you're inviting a ... bunch of models?"

"Some of my associates. So yes, models. And others. Just a relaxed little get together. What do you say?"

"I don't know ... I have to -"

"So you'll be there."

Her sly, red-lipped smile brooks no argument.

******

Tugging at the straps of the shimmering green dress Mei Mei had loaned you for the occasion, you took a breath before pressing the buzzer on the intercom that would give you access to the upscale compound. Mei Mei had pulled some strings to procure an apartment here, arranged by one of her well-connected clients in the fashion industry.

Gaining entry, you traversed the beautifully furnished foyer, with its black and white tiles and vintage lamps. The heels you wore were a lot higher than your usual choice, and you walked with the care of one who expected to twist their ankle at any given second. You hoped nobody noticed.

Mei Mei's get together was a relaxed, but lively affair, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses audible above the scent of various flowers her guests had brought her. She greeted you at the door and introduced you to a few of her colleagues.

Sipping champagne and appearing to listen intently to the lighting director who seemed to have an odd fixation on nipples under spotlights, the slow dawn of another's observation prickled against your skin.

You turned and surveyed the room, and you saw him. He was not exactly the kind of person you could miss. Tall, eerily beautiful, the ripple of lean muscle evident along the rangy lines of his body, his eyes capture you before anything else does. Blue as the most crystalline mountain lake, as clear, his pale lashes framing their illuminated surface, he is watching you with undisguised intrigue. The snowy hair, artfully disheveled, and the promise of a cheeky smile form a devastatingly handsome collection of features that blend together in a most pleasing fashion.

There was no mistaking it. This was the Gojo Satoru, one of the rising stars of the modeling world, a man who happened to look effortless in each and every one of his lauded photo shoots, many of which had already won awards.

And he was looking right at you.

Mei Mei had noticed his scrutiny of you, and she edged in, her soft introduction delivered with a smirk. She is gone faster than your eye can track, and now he's standing right opposite you, examining you with that laser-lit stare.

Clearing your throat, you swirl the remaining champagne in your glass.

"Gojo Satoru. I saw your cover on last week's Men's Wealth. It was ... really something."

He grins, pearly teeth catching the light of the chandeliers.

"Yeah? Which part of it did you like the most?"

"Which ... oh. The composition of the second photo was quite ..."

"Ahh, that one. Yeah. They just handed me the baby oil and told me to go to town. Didn't know it would be that slippery."

You choke slightly.

"So they don't give you ... more direction than that?"

"Oh no. I guess it's unique to me. I know what works best in my shoots and I get it done."

"Sounds like an interesting work ethic. I bet there aren't many models at your level who can say the same."

"Nah. I know I can be the best. I'm gonna be traveling to the New York Fashion Week tomorrow, and I barely know what's in store. They don't even bother telling me anymore."

His easy admission would sound arrogant from anyone else, but the confident assurance in his voice tells you that this man is simply stating facts. A frisson of something warm filters through you. As if his looks weren't already enough.

"Are you good at everything you put your hand to?"

Oh boy. The champagne had decided to assert its control over your mouth. Gojo doesn't seem to mind. If you're not mistaken, something is kindling in those fractured points of brilliance in his eyes too.

"I guess you could say that. I do have one vice, though. Something pretty incurable."

You lean forward, keen to hear this.

"A vice?"

"Yeah." His voice lowers to a secretive huskiness that turns the conditions in your underwear as humid as the Amazon rainforest.

"I kind of have ... a terrible sweet tooth. Can't get enough. I see something sweet, I want it right away."

He winks and sips from his glass, which you can see contains a cocktail with a fair amount of grenadine. You lick your lips, and his gaze follows the slick movement of your tongue.

"Oh? And what specific kinds of sweets do you like?"

"The classic kind."

He isn't touching you, but with the way his eyes rake over your form, he might as well be.

"I like spun sugar, light as air. The creaminess of a panna cotta. The burst of flavour on my tongue from a berry coulis. Give me some of that, and I'm yours, fair lady."

The upward quirk of his mouth is practically irresistible. It's what keeps you glued to his side for the rest of the night, while he, shockingly, seems to be thoroughly enjoying your company too. At times, you catch Mei Mei watching you both with discreet amusement and satisfaction.

At some point, she approaches and makes sure to thank Gojo for his assistance in obtaining this apartment. You glance over at him in surprise.

"Oh, Mei Mei did talk about that. I didn't know her contact was you."

"Sure was. I live just one floor up, actually. Put a word in with the owners and got her the place, no problem."

"So you own a place here too?"

He slides a hand into the pocket of his designer jeans, the glance he shoots you over his tinted glasses a clear invitation.

"Wanna come up and see the view?"

******

You had no idea how it had come to this. This wasn't you. And yet, here you were, in his apartment, the soft chatter of Mei Mei's party long forgotten in the frantic pace of your lips against his.

You both were barely in the door before his hands were on you, groping, caressing, mapping out every part of you sheathed in that increasingly cumbersome green dress. At the first opportunity, his fingers had stolen their way along the zipper and the material had slid down your legs.

You couldn't remember where your bra had been shed, probably somewhere just outside the bedroom.

He was surprisingly strong for someone with such a lean build. The corded sinew of his arms and back clearly weren't just for show. You found yourself tossed breathlessly onto the soft surface of the bed, as he surveyed you with a hunger that had your hands creeping south between your legs.

Satoru pauses, and suddenly there is a shift in the energy within the room. His face takes on a serious cast and his glance bends floorward. You sit up slightly.

"Satoru? Is everything - "

Eyes flitting briefly up to you, his throat bobs slightly as he swallows.

"Well. I guess this is a first for me. I don't usually do this, but ... I kinda want to see you again. After tonight, I mean."

You breathe out reverently. You certainly hadn't been expecting this level of vulnerability.

"And I want to see you again, too."

"So ... if that's the case then ... you need to see all of me. I can't hide this if we're going beyond a one night thing."

You're paying close attention now, reaching for him. He laces his fingers with yours.

What could this perfect man possibly be insecure about?

He takes a bracing breath before relinquishing your hand, stepping back from the bed and approaching the nightstand. Reaching into his mouth, he fiddles a little before plucking something away and placing it in a small container stored there. Turning back to face you, you see what he has been concealing.

The pearly teeth that had reflected such brilliant perfection in the light of Mei Mei's home were gone. In their place were a series of ill-formed, browning and misshapen stumps, many of them worn down completely. Your eyes snapped up to his, widening slightly.

"Satoru ... how - "

"I told you that I had a sweet tooth. I ... indulged myself as a child and my parents never stopped me. They spoiled me rotten in more ways than one! And now I'm  ... I'm paying the price."

"That's ... but why didn't you - "

"I'm going to have surgery soon to ... permanently fix it. But even if I do, my sweet tooth won't go away! It'll be with me forever. I'm ... "

His shoulders slumped slightly.

"Caramel icing. Berry coulis. Soft serve and rock candy. Even liquorice! Toffee! I can't - "

His voice breaks and you find yourself lunging across the bed towards him, enfolding him in a tight embrace. His breath washes over you, the foul tang of decay now noticeable. You understand how he couldn't keep something like this concealed beyond a one night stand. Your voice, when you speak, is infinitely soft.

"Satoru ... all this time ... were you avoiding proper relationships because you ... "

"I - yes."

His arms come up slowly around you, as if he is unused to the gesture.

"I couldn't even ... make them breakfast if I wanted to. Because then ... we'd have to brush our teeth together and they'd see ... "

"Oh, Satoru."

You press your mouth fervently against his, undeterred, mapping out each stump and broken edge with your tongue. He tastes like old coffee, milk gone sour, the cloying overripe sweetness of a fruit gone bad. But this is irrelevant to you, because you're kissing him.

You break away from him, watching those magnificent features of his freeze in shock.

"Wait ... you still want to - "

"Of course I want to. Come here."

The merry tap of fork and knife and Mei Mei's self-satisfied smile on the floor below would escape the both of you, as wrapped up in each other you had become. You vowed to yourself, running your fingers through his incredibly soft hair, that every morning from now on, you'd stand beside him at the bathroom sink and brush your teeth together.

Satoru missed the New York Fashion Week, but gained something far, far sweeter.

(II)

They call you Ishizu.

It isn't your true name, but it's one you'd accepted when you joined this crew. As the ship's surgeon, armed with your family's repertoire of skills and remedies, you'd managed to earn some credibility in your field. You'd saved more than one sailor's life.

For the brave fishing crews that traversed the Sea of Ruin, the vast stretch of unchartered water between this continent and the next, populated by scores of deadly sea beasts and treacherous archipelagos, the sea was a perilous temptress. Those with the skill and courage, not to mention a healthy dash of insanity, could make a substantial profit within a short time before retiring.

Such was the nature of Nanami Kento, Captain of the Casse Croûte, one of the few living men who had sailed the seven oceanic planes in all three seasons.

The Captain was an enigmatic man, to be sure. He'd come across as cold initially, sticking to such rigid timings and sailing plans that you'd wondered how any of his crew liked him. And heavens, did they adore the man. He had the undying loyalty of every person on board, and whenever you'd asked about it, they'd simply smiled and told you that you'd see with time.

So you waited and observed. Gradually, you began to see the qualities the crew so prized in him. When the cabin boy, Yuuji, almost fell into the jaws of a large sea beast with grey, cross-stitch skin, the Captain had drawn his cleaver and struck such a heavy blow across its nose that the creature immediately lost interest in a fisherman-sized snack.

When Sailor Ino, eager to prove himself, had set forth on an expedition on an unchartered island, only to return covered in large insect bites and a raging fever, the Captain had stayed up with him every night until the fever had broken. You'd never seen such dedication to the welfare of the crew.

There were many other such instances, and slowly, you found yourself gravitating to the quiet, charismatic captain as much as the others did. He was also unmistakeably handsome, with his kind, tired gaze, gleaming blonde hair, tall, muscular frame and clean-cut profile. In spite of his injuries, a missing eye and the damaged hand, he was also a formidable man. You'd be lying if you'd claimed that this dangerously attractive man hadn't intruded on your nighttime musings more than once ...

And on one particular night, while the next watch took their positions at the bell and you sat in the small galley that adjoined your surgery, he'd come in, nursing a steaming coffee, and kept you company. Slowly, he'd opened up to you, speaking of his days as a sailor, before he'd become Captain of the Casse Croûte, and what came after.

Something heavier lay over the conversation, though, something he seemed on the verge of telling you. Eventually, you pried it out of him. As you'd suspected, it was to do with his terrible injuries.

"Have you ever heard of the white leviathan?"

Swirling the coffee in his cup, his single eye glances up at you under dark lashes.

"I ... have heard some tales, yes. He's a legend, according to some."

"A living legend."

Seeing your eyes widen, he nods.

"Made off with a portion of my arm, and I'll never watch the sunrise with this eye again."

You exhale heavily.

"Captain ... I had no idea you'd encountered such a creature. What ... exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You should ask. After all, as long as I remain in command of this ship, he may yet make another appearance."

"What do you mean?"

"The white leviathan, also known as a Gojoverian Satorunus, is the strongest of its kind to be born in centuries. Normally, they keep to their distant isle, within the Lightning Archipelago, where few venture. He, however, roams the seas in an eternal quest."

"I've heard that legends call him the Meibi Dick. Is there ... a reason for that strange nickname?"

The Captain hisses through his teeth, one hand raising to his eyepatch, as if just the mention of that moniker has sunk a harpoon into his flesh. You hurry to apologise.

"Captain, I'm so - "

"Please. No need. Let me explain. That nickname ... was a direct result of my encounter with him."

"It was?"

"Indeed. It was a gloomy day, I remember. Rain was pelting down. We'd put out the sails, because the sea was quite still.  At that time, we came upon a wreck, out at sea. The ship had washed up on a great reef, and there it hung, a spectre of former glory."

You were now hanging on to Nanami's words like a crow with carrion.

"And the white leviathan had caused this?"

"Indeed, although we didn't know it at the time. I ordered some of our skilled divers to check the wreck for any possible survivors. There were none, but one of the divers came back with something. A large piece of purified ambergris, said to smell and taste as good to leviathans as the sweetest nectar. Its call to them is so strong, that it may even drive them into heat, causing mating events in their population when they come across it. In my folly, I took it on board for its great value."

"And what happened then?"

"That night, the white leviathan, which had destroyed the other ship for the ambergris, came for us. The scent had laid such claim to the beast's mind that its mating mark had bloomed on the skin near its head, which it displayed to us."

"Its mating mark?"

Reaching into his pocket, Nanami drew out a small notebook and charcoal stick. He sketched something on one of the blank pages before passing the book over to you. Your eyes widened as you took in the drawing. It looked like a crude, stylized penis with the testicles sketched in just below.

"Is this ... "

"His frightful member. Indeed. He was attempting to show us his intention in order to lay claim to the ambergris."

"What did you do?"

"I knew we stood no chance against him. Foolishly, I thought to outrun him. It was futile. He boxed us in at every turn, his plaintive, terrible cry echoing across the water to us. Eventually, I ordered for the ambergris to be thrown overboard. It only served as a distraction. The beast consumed it and resumed his chase. Due to how long I'd evaded him, he'd come to associate this ship, and me, the Captain, with the ambergris."

"But Captain, that means ..."

He nods grimly, and you are sorely tempted to reach across the table and take his hand.

"He will hunt this vessel to the ends of the earth. Why do you think I plan every stage of our voyage so carefully? I'm always one step ahead of him, monitoring and studying the tides, the currents, the beast shoals. As long as we stick to the plan, we have the ability to outrun him."

Hope flares in your chest, in spite of your growing fear.

"I have faith in you, Captain. So does this crew. We'll be beside you, if the white leviathan ever makes an appearance."

This time, you do take his hand in your warm, tentative grasp, watching as his eyes drink in your countenance in the dim light of the galley. He squeezes your fingers in return.

**********

The seasons at sea come and go, and its a full seven months and three days before Captain Nanami's perfectly timed schedule is threatened. A storm, the likes of which you've never encountered before, strikes with unpredictable ferocity. The ship is blown completely off course, and although it will take a few days to rectify, Nanami's dire mood is palpable.

If you didn't have full faith in your Captain, you might have considered this an overreaction on his part. But you knew better. You knew that his concern came from long experience.

A well-founded concern, as it turned out. The white leviathan made an appearance a mere two days after the storm, spotted far to starboard by the lookout, and gaining fast.

Captain Nanami forbade any of the crew joining him in his task of slaying the beast, but this was one occasion where nobody would follow his instructions. You all loved him too well. Come hell or high water, you would all be by his side.

And the leviathan approached, its size alone boggling the mind. The waves slapped and beat against the hull, the slow rise and dip of the deck more and more pronounced as it came closer. Nanami stood on the prow, facing the creature, the large harpoon readied by Yuuji in one hand, his trusty cleaver in the other.

Then, you heard it. The terrible call of the creature, booming across the water to batter at your ears. The grotesquely formed words were difficult to make out, but to your astonishment, they formed distinct speech that you could understand.

"Naaanaaamiiiin, letttsssss .... gooooooo oouutttt."

The Captain gritted his teeth, his own reply loud on the wind.

"Never, you foul creature!"

"Sompppthin .... impooorrtant .... talkkkkk tooooo youuuuuu .... "

"You've been chasing me for years! There's nothing this important! Begone!"

"Iiiiiiii .... havvveeennn'tttt...... saiiiiddd nyythiiing ... "

"I refuse!"

That groaning, awful cry had come closer and closer, forcing you to your knees, hands clasped over your ears. The Captain stood firm, even as the giant, pale form broke the surface of the sea beside the ship, the giant, electric blue eye surveying the vessel with the glee of a long awaited victory.

"Naaaanaaaaminnnnn .... "

And then, you saw it. The mark the Captain had spoken of, the giant member and testicles that appeared as scrawled marks from beneath the skin of the beast. It had not forgotten! And now, as the beast called out again, it dawned upon you in a flash where it's dreaded nickname had come from.

"Naaaanaaaamiiinnnnnn ... maaaaayybbeeeee  ... diiiiiiicckkkkkk?"

You lunged toward the Captain, grabbing at his leg to keep him steady as the deck pitched violently before the amorous leviathan. You saw Nanami looking down at you, that beautifully courageous gaze trained on your water-streaked face. He turned back to the monster.

"I will never accept your dick, you all-ruining, unambitious fish."

You grasped his leg harder, willing all of your strength into his good arm as his body uncoiled and the harpoon flew true through the eye of the storm.

Part 2:

Demon Lord! Geto and Fireman! Kusakabe

[boiohboii]

7. Appreciative

(Lewis Hamilton x reader)

Dating Lewis was hard, yn knew that agreeing to go on that date, and he knew how much she suffered so why not show his appreciation for the girl he loves.

From this list

WARNING: NOT PROOF READ, NOT ACCURATE. if I missed anything, pls lmk.

main masterlist

12 descriptions of a lover masterlist

Lewis saw how yn hesitated when he asked her out, he saw the subtle fidgeting of her fingers around each other and her teeth pulling on the corners of her mouth from the inside. He knew why she would feel nervous, he understands, but he couldn't -wouldn't- back down.

Now after 2 years of being together, he knows that he'd made the right choice in pursuing her, she's been his anchor, the one he can lean on and show what he feels freely. She was there when the car started to go to shit, she was there when things started to be tense between him and toto and she is there through the move to ferrari.

Lewis isn't an idiot, he knows that he can't just be the 1st driver, not while their prince- Charles Leclerc- is there. He knows that even the 7 championships he has under his belt and his experience won't simply make Charles roll over. He also knows that the media has been hounding at him and yn to even get one word out of them so that they could twist it into a worthy clickbait headline. He saw the videos on twitter of people waiting for his girlfriend outside of her work place so that they could ask her about anything and everything.

Deciding to make use of the small break in between races, Lewis had yn fly to Monaco so that they could spend a week there, nothing but the beach, their jetski, their yacht and Roscoe.

"Hello love," Lewis pulled yn in a hug, sinking into her as her scent washed over him. Home. "How was the flight?"

"It was alright," yn mumbled into his chest "missed you."

Feeling movement near her ankles yn giggles a bit,

"and you too baby."

Untangling herself from Lewis, yn leaned over to pick up the dog, well, she tried at least, it was kind of hard to when he was barking and licking her face in affection, signaling that he, too, missed his female owner.

Monaco's streets were such a sight in the evening, with the sun setting the sea in view and the houses blending into the mountains in the background at the sides. It was heavenly.

Yn had always dreamed of staying at a seaside house, to just spend the vacation there with her swimming till the sun set and nothing in mind. Just the sound of the waves hitting the rocks and the feeling of the sand underneath her feet as she lets the water mover her back and forth.

Parking in front of a two story house, yn looked at the painted exterior, the tent made specifically for parking where there was already a jetski and a small boat.

"um lew, did you rent another jet? And why is there a mini yacht"

"Sweetheart, that's a boat." Lewis chuckled

"Okay, why is there a boat? And a jetski different than yours?"

"How about you take these keys, go inside while I bring our bags and then I'll explain, yeah?"

Walking over Lewis kissed her forehead as she hummed in agreement.

Opening the blue painted door, yn searched for a chair to place it in front of it so that it won't close due to the wind, locking Lewis out.

Done with her mission yn looked around being met with a lot of colors that somehow work together.

A round, Olympic bronze wooden dinning table with four chairs in satin purse seatings, a light orange couch with light rosewood, light violet and blue violet cushions and a dark rosewood wooden table with a bunch of papers on the top.

Now, yn knows that Lewis doesn't place anything important anywhere, he is quite organised with where he places everything, so normally she thought that they were just trash and as she was going to throw them out she saw her name out of the corner of her eye.

OWNER: YN LN.

"What the fuck" yn whispered in confusion, her fingers moving the papers, flipping through them.

"LEWIS HAMILTON!" yn started as she moved through the living room, making her way to her boyfriend who was at the trunk of the car getting out her small suitcase.

"Why the hell is there 3 leases with my name on them?!"

"Ah, shit," Lewis looked at her with pleading eyes as he quickly and gently placed her suitcase on the ground "hold on love."

"Lewis,"

"How about you let me tell you everything and then you can decide if you wanna keep them or not, okay?"

Taking her silence as an agreement Lewis continued,

"I know that you think this is too much, I know that you don't need this stuff, I know that you won't easily accept it and that it will take you a while to treat these things as your own, but I got them for you because of who you are to me, how you made me feel safe and heard. How you make me feel comfortable anywhere we go and how much you do for me. You help me when I'm stressed, you stay by my side when I'm sick or when I'm feeling down, you listen to me and you offer solutions to my problems, you ask me what I need or what I am looking for and you bring it to the table when I want it. You do everything right by me.

I know that you will say that I do the same and I am glad that you noticed my efforts and my love for you, but I just," sighing, Lewis took a minute to collect his thoughts.

"It felt right, it felt right to get you a house that you always dreamed of where you can spend as much time as you want, it felt right to get you a boat so you could enjoy it with whomever you wish and it felt right to get you the jetski cause it's the one thing that makes you seem like a little kid in a candy store, it makes your eyes sparkle with so much joy.

I want you to have all of that, I want to know that you are living a dream you always had even if we don't make it. Although, don't think I'll let you go that easily, in this lifetime or the next ones." Lewis joked, earning a chuckle out of a teary eyed yn.

"I love you yn," Lewis said earnestly as he took a hold of her hand, "I love everything about you. I appreciate everything you do for me and I will do everything I can to always make you happy, I swear it love."

Kissing the palm of her hand was the last straw for yn, tears falling onto her cheeks as she looked at the man she loves.

She felt so much love in these few minutes that her brain couldn't comprehend it. The words that came out of Lewis made her feel like the only woman in the world, they made her feel special and these words stayed in her mind among the memories of why she'd marry Lewis and die beside him.

Taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 2

-> Part 1

-> Part 3

"How does it feel like, to fly?" You asked idly, cuddling into Dvalin's feathered, soft back.

"I could show you," is what you got for an answer.

And so here you were, flying over Mondstadt (the country) and being utterly speechless at how little justice the game did to the utter beauty of it all.

Hills of grass and farmlands (it made so much sense for Mondstadt to be a country of agriculture, of farming, how had you not thought of it before?) rolled lazily wherever the eye could see, stretching well over the horizon.

Forests swayed with the wind as Dvalin flied by, lush crowns blending into one another and protecting the animals underneath.

Lakes and rivers cut through the monotony of greens and browns with a brilliant blue, sparkling in the sun like Edward Cullen.

The mountains of Liyue, so small you had the impulse to grab them into your hands despite how far away they were, were like an extension of Mondstadt -- a slow and steady rise from a mere molehill to a towering behemoth overlooking the vast world.

Dragonspine, instead of playing into the beauty of Mondstadt, seemed to go directly against it. Using it to enhance its' own presence, to have your eye stray and appreciate the cold, ethereal mountain of snow and ice instead. It looked deceptively peaceful from so far away - the nearly permament snow storm looking like a translucent garb shrugged elegantly onto white robes of an indifferent jade beauty, whose mere gaze could freeze you to death.

And Mondstadt (the city) looked like a mere speck of dust in the grand scheme of it all.

"How pretty," you couldn't help but say, head swaying to and fro as you enjoy the view and the gentle winds from where you sat, sprawled out like a starfish on the dragon's back.

You kind of saw a pattern there, but you certaintly weren't complaining.

Dvalin huffs a laugh.

"It is only natural, Teyvat was made by the All-Mother. Anything made by their hand is bound to be beautiful."

You laugh, loud and unrestrained and uncaring, because there was no one to scold you for being yourself anymore, "Indirectly complimenting yourself, are you?"

And Dvalin laughs too, a deep rumble of a laugh that has him dipping in altitude for a moment before he rights himself.

It was nice.

"I'm hungry."

"Then we shall land."

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

While you ate some fruits that a few adorable squirrels offered to you almost as soon as you landed (which made you melt into a puddle of happiness again, because they were so cute it hurt and they let you pet them a few times before they left), Dvalin made himself comfortable and started speaking. He wove stories like a master seamstress --of Teyvat, of Mondstadt, of Barbatos and of his own past--, giving birth to such vivid imaginery that you almost felt like you were there with him while it all happened.

He was a great storyteller.

The years of friendship between him and Venti probably contributed to it, there is only so long you can go without picking up a few things from an insistent friend after all.

"Durin was a pitiful creature. An artificial existence made by an arrogant Alchemist of Khaenri'ah in a futile attempt to recreate the All-Mother's miracle of creation, wishing for freedom and friendship but unable to attain them."

Dvalin huffs.

"I had to strike him down, for the safety of Mondstadt. And even on his death bed, not once had he blamed me nor Barbatos, merely wishing we had met in better circumstances."

The mood turns somber.

"His heart still beats in Dragonspine," you say after a while.

Dvalin exhales a long and drawn out breath.

"You will be able to put him to rest, once you grow stronger. It is merely a matter of time."

Quiet protests of you not being the All-Mother, of you simple being (Name) and nothing else, are quickly shoved to the back of your mind and ignored.

Instead, you ask why he believed so.

"You have purged me of the Abyssal filth that had tortured me for centuries with your mere presence, despite having descended only recently. That is enough confirmation."

You blink in suprise.

Didn't that mean you were much earlier in the timeline that you thought?

Huh.

Something to think through while you monch on the fruits.

Then again, did it really matter how early into the timeline you transmigrated? You weren't an ambitious person and you didn't crave adventure and excitement. People like you manned the market stalls rather than making a difference.

...you probably jinxed yourself.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

Countdown to All-Mother dearest jinxing themselves and making a difference - however long it takes me to write the next chapter!

Now, ✨how do I taglist people cuties✨

I am trying to tag someone but the @ can't find them, someone heeeeeeelp I'm poking and fat-fingering everything on their profile but it doesn't work :(

Also, if someone is bored of boring music check out The Kiffness on youtube, I'm having a Kiffness x Goat collab on repeat and it's dope af.

Kookee kookee with a cockatiel is dope too.

And the cat jams.

He has a whole playlist of just cat jams, what more does a coach potat like me need?

[purple-goo-writes]

Soooo this hit me earlier-

Phantom and Robin (Dick) being friends, maybe meet during a Teen Titan mission and Robin never told the Adult Leaguers about Phantom and his city cause Phantom asked him not too? Perhaps not wanting someone to get possessed or just Jaded Amity from someone not taking their calls seriously.

Anyway- Dick doesn't hear from Phantom for years, possibly both accidently drop out of contact due to hectic lives on both sides, Dick jut getting started as Nightwing and Phantom is dealing with the GIW.

Not until Tim is Robin and both YJ and TT are thrown off by this strange glowing entity shows up at the Tower bleeding Lazarus Water and asking for Nightwing.

Dick is surprised over how much Phantom had changed. Gone was the hazmat suit and short frame. Now his old friend was nearly taller then him, still built for aerial flight yet it was as if his limbs were just a tad too long the more he looked. Especially when he noticed the ragged claws that poked through his ripped gloves...

Which makes him realize the hazmat suit wasn't gone, it was simply ripped and torn to rags and Phantom had patched it with other materials or simply wrapped bandages around the exposed parts and was wearing a tattered purple cloak over the rest. It also drew his attention to how inhuman Phantom now looked, how wide and feral his eyes were-how now they were fully radioactive green swirling with electric blue, how his skin was stretched tight over muscles and cracked in some places which were blackened with frostbite, how his smile was filled with sharp teeth and stretched just too wide to be normal, his face now wrapped in bandages partially as if to hide how inhuman he had become, the bandages blending in with his long white hair that crackled like electricity and flaked like snow or the tail of a comet. How he was only shorter then Nightwing due to standing hunched over and how twisted his legs looked when not a ghostly tail.

Something had happened and it had drastically changed the protective Ghost.

Nightwing: Phantom-

Danny: *grimace* I go by Wraith now...

Nightwing paused as he realized that his friends voice now sounded like the shattering of ice mixed with the howls of mountain winds.

Nightwing: ...Danny why are you here?

Wraith sighs and hands him a cloth covered bundle which Nightwing unwrapped to reveal a glowing dagger made of green metal that would look like Kryptonite if not for the darker green.

Wraith: The GIW...they wiped Amity off the map...everyone is gone

Nightwing: Danny...we can help

Wraith: *shakes head* No...I need you to only do one thing...after I take them down..

Nightwing: No

Wraith: *closes Nightwings hands over th dagger ignoring how his own skin sizzles from being so close* I need you to end me.

Wraith leaves as Nightwing protests: I'll be at our spot once it's over.