#feathery dispositions

[whereserpentswalk]

There was a mermaid who had chosen to go onto land, who had given up her tail for legs, her fangs for square teeth, her feathery gills for pretty pink lungs. And she grew to regret it. She had fallen in love with a mortal man, and found him to be nothing but a fool.

She hadn't realized how diffenet her new body was. She knew she would have legs, she prepared for that, but she didn't prepare to really be a human woman. Her silver scales were now replaced with pale skin, which seemed so weak and easy to hurt to her, she felt flayed alive. She wasn't prepared to wear clothing on her body, which felt like being trapped in a net. And not to mention how slowly she moved, how strange and disturbing it was to not be able to swim miles and miles whenever she needed to, she was trapped in one little peice of the world.

Not to mention, she had to eat human food now, which was set on fire before it was served to her, and it was sometimes made of plants. She wanted to vomit just thinking about it, but her new body needed it to live, and she cried through every meal. And just as bad where her new reproductive organs, that were so much more complex, and bled for her constantly, and made it feel like she was always wounded.

The worst thing about her reproductive organs was how her husband treated them. She had fallen in love with him from the sea, watching him and knowing so little about his kind or his disposition. He wanted to mate nearly every night, but wanted no hatchinglings to come from it. And human mating itself was disgusting to her, instead of just laying eggs for him he'd somehow be inside her. She didn't want to imagine the details. She made excuses to keep him away, but she knew some day she would run out, and wept knowing it would happen.

Her husband was a strange human. She thought he was a prince when she watched him from the water but he had a diffrent title as a duke of some sort, bowing to a king on a different continent. She had seen him in uniform and thought him a hero, slaying dragons and orcs and devils and harpies and goblins and witches. But all the dragons and harpies had fled to the skies, and the goblins and orcs deep underground, and the devils and witches had gone into hiding. She saw him set fire to a witch once, she wasn't sure she was a witch though, but it wasn't brave, all she did was cry, he didn't fight her at all.

All her husband's wars were with other humans. Sometimes humans with diffrent flags who seemed the same as them. Sometimes humans who had been on the land longer then him, who his armies pushed further and further from the coast. Sometimes his own subjects, weeping and broken masses, people he hurt, those were the wars he won the most. She wanted to help him just to be with him, but she learned human women weren't allowed to fight. So when he was at war he was away, and when he wasn't all he talked about was war, and money, and the awful things he wanted to do with her.

She expected to be his wife in a way she wasn't. She learned human wives were treated like children to their husbands, that they had to obey them, that he could yell and her and hurt her just like he did his servents. She learned he was able to yell at his servents, she was allowed to too but she didn't. She learned things she had to do, she had to become civilized, whatever it meant to be civilized. She wasn't allowed to go outside the palace, not alone. And she wasn't allowed to pray to the gods of the deep, she had to pray to the one god of the humans, a bleeding god on a torture device, a sad god, a weak god.

There was one final night when her husband tried to force her to mate with him, more forcefully then he ever had before. He hit her. And though she didn't have fangs anymore she bit him so hard he bled. He tried to restrain her, to undress her, to undress himself. She ripped off the part of his body he tried to pit inside her. And she thought it so strange, how blood looks on land, flowing to the bottom as opposed to floating away.

She walked to the water after that. And slowly walked in, losing herself in the waves. Some people think she became a mermaid again, and that she's safe in her kingdom in the deep. But others think she walked into the water knowing she'd stay a human, and let the ocean filling her lungs set her free.

[joannasteez]

whispers in loud places

pairing: roman reigns x black reader

summary/warning: this is a continuation of sorts of whispers in the villa. its just smut with description! mentions of infidelity. minors do not interact please. explicit content for 18+

word count: 1.5k

there was nothing about his desires that lent itself to selfishness. unless of course, you factored in the most crucial detail. this being that you were married, your ring finger stoned with a beautiful grouping of diamonds given to you by another man. but were you happily married? absolutely-fucking-not. and that heat in your eyes, something like a smoldering more than a mountainous flame, eases his skin to a warmth till its nagging at his openly sociable disposition. because roman was doing fine. he'd smiled and shook hands, each time more genuine than the next, a slow but gracious fall into the nights festivities, because everybody who was anybody was here. stars of of the brands, smackdown and raw alike, yes, but the big suits from the holding company as well. 

it would do him some good maybe to mix in a bit. rub elbows and get comfortable. 

and he was trying, God was he trying, but you'd appeared seemingly from thin air. that scent of dior, sweet and lulling. your dress wrapped at your hips, hugging perfect, and the neckline draped just enough to leave any eye curious. 

as simple as he could put it, he wanted to touch you.  a small slip of your skin against his to tame the burn beneath his fingers. and it's not much to ask for, but with your husband by your side, gracefully floating with you around the room, the idea of it seemed nearly impossible. 

till it wasn't. 

and his tongue finds itself curling clever from that draped neckline to the sensitive patch of skin just behind your ear. a desperate moan knocking against the dense build of the mansion columns before it disperses to nothing. you'd found a spot, a rendezvous point away from the sea of people that could just never seem to end. all just to have him touch and kiss you. and touch and kiss he did, teeth taking a sharp teasing pull at your lip, before his tongue swipes in to taste you. 

champagne at your tongue and the sweet smell at your neck bleed an urgency into his fingers, and a stiffness at his dick. he groans into your mouth, feels the sloppy way your lips slip against him and attempts at quelling the fast to burst coil in his gut. but of course it proves useless, a feathery moan you give deepening the ache he has for you. 

romans palms glide easy beneath the silk of your dress, reverential in the way they move. thoughtful, as if to commit the curves and dips to memory. till he finds his way to something lacy. 

he rubs easy, faint. enough for you to feel him, enough to leave you wanting more. and when he speaks you melt in his arms, in the heavy tone of his words. you need him more than you like to admit, more than you should. 

his mouth runs close to yours. breaths crossing, merging till they're paced the same. "how many drinks have you had?" 

your hips rut. clit harsh with its throbbing. you feen for him, for release. 

"only two". your words breathy. desperate. 

"and you're tipsy already"

you smile, in that mindless way that only comes with a drink or two. its unburdened by repetitions of overthinking and cautionary actions. its sweet and inviting. something to kiss and savor till it has no choice but to falter and succumb to something more amorous. so that's what he does, slips his thick tongue back to where he thinks it belongs, your mouths twisting wet and needy till you break with heavy breath and darker eyes. his thumb playing soft against where he'd bitten only just a little earlier, before you take it to suck soft. licking kitten like. coffee brown eyes glazed over with a silent pleading. 

"not tipsy. just a little buzzed". 

he chuckles. "and a little desperate".

he handles you at your shoulders, presses you up against a cold column so that the peel up of your dress is easy. fingers long and thick as they dance firm past your panties and through the wet drip of your slit. you're a warm whimpering thing amongst the cool night air, and nothing other than satisfaction teems in him when you moan for him. a soft shaking in anticipation of being filled. 

and he goes for it, a groaning "fuck", bristling warm at your neck when he dips his hot fingers into your pussy. feels the frenzy of your nerves in the way you clench and unclench. a gentle squelch as he strokes firm. you hiss, reach down to meet the diligent work of his fingers, rubbing smooth at your clit. your body breaks into a small sweat despite the cool air, just enough to feel the dampness of it at your cheeks. eyes fighting not to roll, which would lead to the inevitable burst of your voice. a fast doing away with of whispers and whimpers to make way for something more loud and revealing. because that is what he does to you. slips his way under your skin and makes error of that perfectly crafted poised disposition. 

but how can you not itch with insanity? words mumbling and slurred in their delirium as he ruts in the thick set of his fingers. a pace that implies that time is on your side. when it is indeed not.

you steel your breathing to talk. calm the rub you give those aching bundled nerves to sit in the soaked push in and leave of him. even those short moments of emptiness feel good. a fluttering in your gut, and an ache at the slight arch your back takes. legs apart and pushing against him to fuck yourself slow. 

and from where he is, pressed so tightly to your back, body working as a veil to conceal you, your smile is drunk now. disrupted by the awe of ecstasy. 

"i think it's a nice change". and you don't mean to sound so breathy, but it's impossible to speak clear when he has you like this. "usually it's you begging for a taste".

little did you know, he'd been waiting for this most of the night. 

roman kisses at your nape, the breath that comes before some teasing word roughs a tremble into you. works its way down the spine till a throbbing sets in. and you're warm all over. the cobblestone of the mansion passageway beneath your feet tainted by the wet drip of your arousal. 

"begging is a strong word", voice deep and velvet against your skin. coaxes your hips to rut backward, heat slick and clinging harsher. forces his fingers to take purchase deeper. 

and your delirium is amusing. the senselessness that drives your body into him. he loves it. continues his taunting. "i say open", your legs shifting to spread slightly, some automatic reaction, "and you spread wide". you whine in protest, wanting to fight the truth, but he's pulling from your pussy to add a third finger before you can speak. a sob breaks from your chest instead. "what else am i supposed to say besides please and thank you when you're shoving this fat pussy on my fingers, in my face, and on my dick every chance you get, asking me to fuck you silly".

the messiness where his fingers slip into you makes it easy to sooth your fingers again at your clit. the tug at your core tighter as you move closer to release. and risk isn't something important right now, not when he's fucking you this good with just his fingers.

a whimper breaks from your throat. eyes glazing wet. "fuck me roman. please". 

"too many eyes, too many ears". his nose flaring annoyed at the trouble it could cause, at the trouble you cause him by just being here. "and you can never just shut up and take it". 

your chest pushes in against the wall enough to steady your body as a hand reaches behind to grab onto him. for comfort before the break in of that tumultuous rioting of nerves. the burdening shake in your bones all the tell he needs to know that you're about to come undone for him. but it doesn't stop the mindless mumbling you take to as you spasm hard. "fuck! i-, mhmm i need you coming in me roman. fucking, ahaa-- miss you. miss you in me". 

and how can he say no to that? when you ask so beautifully. the switch hard from begrudgingly staving off from fully indulging you, to that being the only thing he can do in the moment. his fingers wet and fast as they pull at his belt. cock hard and throbbing as he pushes it to rub through your slit. a hand of your own pulling to jerk him as he pushes at your clit. he kisses sweet at your ear, hands large against the wall on either side of you, allowing your own hands to guide him through the soft pull of your pussy. 

you moan again. the sound drowned out by drunken party goers. you don't know if you love him, but you love this. the way you cling to him and the heavy knock in of his hips, addictive and nearly ear splitting. you love this too much.

[eruherdiriel]

Homecoming

Jonsa ficlet Rating: G Universe: Canon, bookverse Other: Arranged marriage, Sansa POV

Also on AO3.

Banners appear on the horizon, the emblem invisible to her at first as the standards fly straight out behind the men who hold them, but Sansa does not need to see the fabric to know who has arrived. Ghost had been beside her in the Great Hall as she met with a group of serving women when he chuffed and sprang to his feet. The direwolf had only to look at her and she knew. They had climbed the stairs in the keep until they reached the battlements, Sansa following Ghost as he walked her around to just above the East Gate. Together, they watched over the hills to the south and east of the castle, waiting for any sign of him—for Jon and his host, riding home from a gathering with new southern rulers.

The standard bearers slow their horses, and the banners relax into a gentler movement. She can see the great beast on them now, white against a grey background. While it looks the most like a direwolf—like Ghost—it is something new, with a scaled belly, long talon claws, and feathery wings—a wolf, a dragon, and a crow all in one. Ivory weirwood trunks and limbs with bright red leaves encircle the beast to complete the design, one of Sansa’s own imaginings. With their marriage, Jon could fly the Stark banner, the grey direwolf that hangs off the battlements of Winterfell even now, but he had refused.

Ghost moves back toward the stairs, and she follows to await his master in the yard. Her palms sweat in her light leather gloves and her heart pounds. I have not been this nervous to see Jon since our wedding night.

Once her husband is through the gate and off his horse, they greet each other formally. Nervousness continues to bubble inside her as they proceed into the keep and his bedchamber, where a bath awaits him. 

She leaves him there to wash off the grime of a hard ride. He frowns as she goes, no doubt sensing her disquietude. Why must he see through me? she wonders.

Perhaps his ability to do so is the very reason she finds herself in this situation.

Later, when she sees the servants taking the dirty bathwater away, she returns to his rooms. The first soft knock returns no answer, so she tries again, firmer this time, and he bids her enter. 

Jon is standing straight when she opens the door, but Sansa can see the exhaustion behind his eyes. Once again, their greeting is proper. Then they fall silent, as he waits for her to explain her presence.

There are words Sansa is thinking of trying out on her tongue, ones she has never spoken to Jon before. The alliance their marriage built is so very fragile still, and affection was never part of the promises they made to each other or their people. It grew anyway, at least for her. Scarier than recognizing that is the fear she harbors that he does not feel the same.

But Sansa is brave, so she walks closer to him and twists her tongue to form the words.

“I missed you,” she says, eyes cast down. Her disposition does not prevent her from seeing his eyebrows shoot up. With them, her own walls rise. She lifts her chin as well, no longer wishing to appear demure.

“I mean to say, Ghost missed you, and I missed having you to negotiate with the wildlings. Tormund Giantsbane is the crassest man—”

Jon halts her words as he reaches out and pulls her into his chest, his nose drawing a line up her neck as he breathes in deep. Almost like he wishes to inhale me, she thinks. “I missed you as well, my lady,” he says in her ear, and sparks shoot down her back from where his breath tickles her skin.

Sansa believes him, Seven save her. After everything, her trust in people having been trampled by a cavalry of cruel men and women, this is all it takes: an embrace and seven simple words. Only his embrace, and only his words, she promises herself.

She relaxes into his arms, content for the first time in a long while.

[windydrawallday]

AT LAST TERIANS for today, the species/group that hoards draconian-looking and dinosaur-inspired designs for my project Frontera Mística! This is the first time I attempted to draw a fully detailed body for Emberalda, their Elemental Guardian/Deity of Fire and "malevolent" necromancer.

Terians are the most "antagonistic" species in behavior compared to other creatures, rooted in their survival-focused way of standing life, solitaire disposition, and abrasive energy. Common visual traits are skin and/or feathery frilled necks, scaly hard skin with mixed patches of feathers, and their secondary arms used for battle (or elemental magic casting like in Emberalda's).

Here we got examples of a Pytusa (with Necrovira -Lich in this world- aspects), Diamalisco (basilisk+snakes), and a mutated Gargosaur (dinosaur+gargoyle) without his secondary arms (the more a Terian looks like a dinosaur, the mutation becomes commonplace and leaves them without the extra arms).

[blazingstaro]

DotS: Knights of the Stars file #03 — Sir Galacta Knight

Name: Sir Galacta Asteri of the Stars Age: 528 yrs ( Adult Dream Puff) Rank: 5th Star Knight General ; Puff Chieftain

The greatest, most powerful warrior of the Galaxy; Galacta is nothing short of a force to be reckoned with! He's well above average size for a Dream Puff, and is frighteningly agile in the air despite his weight.

In contrast to his ferocity in a fight, Galacta has a rather warm and jolly disposition. He's a poster child for Dream Puffs, as someone who can find and bring joy even in the darkest of times. With his hearty, contagious laughter, it's hard to wear a frown around this plump, friendly feathery Puffball!

Behind the mask, he has bright purple eyes and a comedically oversized snaggletooth left fang. His mask visor emphasizes the red in his eye color, to help him achieve a more intimidating appearance since he's terribly fluffy and cute. Surprisingly, he has a distinguished Southern accent. When he speaks, one could practically hear gravy poured on a biscuit and a slice of pecan pie being served on your plate. He embodies southern hospitality well in addition, taking strongly after his mother who had a hobby as a starship mechanic.

"A Puff of purest pink shall arise from the ashes, and lay waste to the Warlock and fiendish foes."

Sir Galacta Asteri is said to be the reincarnated, prophesied hero of legend. Following his fall in a forgotten age (back when he was known as the "Aeon Hero") due to a cataclysm which changed his home world forever, he was predicted to return by an oracle of yore. However, his wandering soul was ensnared by the warlock Nightmare, who held him captive for thousands of years. The foul monster maker knew Galacta's power would be more than enough to slay him, and so deeply feared him.

It wasn't until a little over 500 years ago, a talented, brave, and somewhat cocky young Sorceress snuck into Nightmare's base and rescued Galacta from the evil wizard's grasp. She then set him free on the Puff Homeworld; thus the Galacta we know today came to be. He grew to change the world forever, and change his fate.

He was often regarded as "The Chosen" due to centuries of passed down legends and whispered hopes of his coming, and so Galacta was burdened with the fate of the Galaxy since a young age. Despite his incredible talents —as one would expect from someone supposedly reincarnated—, he often felt that his efforts weren't good enough for the world, and silently strove to become better.

Galacta was an only child, so those he refers to as his brothers or sisters are his closest childhood friends; however, that doesn't change the fact that they're close family to one another! These surrogate siblings of his are Sir Meta Knight, Sir Antwan, and Eave. He especially has a tight bond with Eave, who also shares his secrets. These siblings of his, and anyone he deems family, all lovingly refer to him as "Gally".

Coming to knighthood at the ripe age of 18, Galacta soared up the ranks until eventually replacing his mentor, Sir Eavansol, as Knight General of the Star Warriors. In this position, his talent for strategy flourished as he expertly led their armies into great success. With his pure power and might, he spear-headed every battle he attended. He was also responsible for a plethora of things outside of combat, conducting meetings with other Generals of other armies, and maintaining a healthy relationship between the Star Warriors and GSA.

During the war days, Galacta earned the call sign "Muffin Man" due to his somewhat plump form, which quickly became a useful and discreet way to summon him. It is true, however, that Gally is a bit overweight for a Puff, as evidenced strongly when he sits down. He "muffins" out a bit and looks more like a large pink dumpling than a nice round ball. Hence the nickname! He's a bit insecure and self conscious about it, but can't really do anything about it either.

Being a high-power Puff requires a lot of energy, and being in the high-stress position he was in the Star Warriors, he indulged himself often on his favorite sweet treat: strawberry cheesecakes. It became a rather terrible habit (for which Eave got on his case often) to the point where he had a hidden fridge in his office. Everyone knew about it, which he was hilariously unaware of.

Throughout Galacta's youth, he was trained to carry the torch as Puff Chief, leader of all the Dream Puffs of Homeworld, as he knew he wouldn't serve the Star Warriors forever. He eventually took on the mantle as Chief following the fall of Homeworld, and performed a stressful, yet delicate balancing act of leading both his people and the Star Warriors.

Galacta's lived a long life filled with responsibilities and expectations piled onto his plate, and though he succeeded in much throughout his career, he struggled silently and hid behind his own sweet snaggletooth smile. Meta Knight had to learn from someone, after all, and boy is Galacta a master at hiding himself in plain sight. Though not literally— stealth has never been his strong suit.

Many theorize that due to immense amount of pressure, the stress, perhaps the loss of Homeworld and therefore many loved ones including his right hand woman and lieutenant, Mei, or perhaps more. A few, including Sir Antwan, believe that unknown, yet dubious events caused the great and powerful Sir Galacta Knight to fall into a pit of madness.

Eyes reduced to crimson pin-pricks, wild and broken, it was clear that their beloved brother had at last broke and lost his mind. T'was that fateful day, nearly 300 years ago, where the winged warrior was sealed away in crystal by the last high mages of an old kingdom. He changed the world, but he could not change his fate.

According to Sir Meta Knight, his sister Eave was present for this, and swears down to the tips of her wings that there's more to this mystery. However, her investigations were never concluded, for she vanished some few years later.

Now, by a certain lone knight's overly ambitious actions, Galacta Knight is freed once more, and free to wreak his wrath upon the Galaxy. Though one could only wonder how one as sweet and gentle as he could be reduced to a heartless, cold, killing machine?

Perhaps Eave knew something our heroes could only hope to discover without her...

[duckdotcom]

this entire damn time i've been reading your blog title ("Fuck Yes! Duck Gently Passing Over Wave") as if Duck Gently was a name, like a duck version of Dirk Gently, and i only just realized gently is probably being used as an adverb here. awesome

They call me Duck Gently on account of my feathery exterior webbed feet and tender disposition

[frothing-at-the-mouth]

If Bart was a cat. I think he’d be an oriental long hair cat.

Lanky, noisy, no personal space, zoomies all the time, a forward tilt like he’s ready to move at a moment’s notice. Hit tail would be fluffy but sparse so it looks feathery and always at a high disposition. Big ol ears. A spotty tabby in coloration.

Idk what his name warrior name would be tho

(ID: An illustration of a cat much to the description of the above text)

[nebby-stardust]

Concept doodles and musings

So so okay Memory lore because my brain ran so far away when I asked myself, ‘why are they a Sans?’ Which turned into ‘I think they’d suit an Alphys.’ to ‘Shapeshifting trickster spirit!’.

Lil ramble below cut! (beware I cannot organize my thoughts to save my life.)

Memory is the archivist of the multiverse, they document AUs, and when they are finally destroyed or abandoned, they write everything into a neat little story to be remembered fondly or to be learned from by the creators.

Much like Ink watching the aus' stories, they have a somewhat detached disposition when it comes to what ultimately happens to inhabitants at the ‘end’ of an AU. A death is a death, they’ve seen thousands, some slow and agonizing as a story struggles against its end in agonizing death throes, some simple and clean abandonment or simply ‘the end’.

Honestly I could see them taking destruction into their own hands if Ink and Error ever made an agreement like they did in underverse (no destruction no creation), they thrive on entropy, under these conditions they'd quickly turn to perfectionism for justification of their actions. (might explore that later)

They take whatever form leads them to be received best, often that is Sans due to the fact most of the monsters roaming the multiverse take the form of Sans. They’re favorite is probably Muffet (lotsa wings), their least favorite is Undyne (flying fish fins don’t actually enable flight), and Sans is what they call their comfort form. Out of simple habit it has become easiest to hold (outside of their true form)

I call their true form the Lindwyrm or the Librarian, this feathery dragon-like thing with one set of clawed talon like hands, three sets of wings at minimum, many eyes, possible some sort of halo, inside its mouth rather than a throat in another eye, yeah biblically accurate angle-ish mixed with a dragon vibes.

Tl;dr: Here's my little perfectionist chaos goblin who will fuck around and will also find out.

[itfitsitshipsart]

6, 8, 17, and 29 <3

^^ <3

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Karl like her thighs and nose. Her thighs are one of her only soft, squishy spots (minus boobs where are nice too), being so boney and thin, that's they're quite pleasant~ And her nose is so boopable and gives her face a pretty profile.

Evelyn loves basically his entire torso and arms. it's a lot, but she can't pick. He's strong, but soft, and she loves to hang on his and be held

8. Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

For Evelyn: Bird brain, because of he moments of forgetfulness and ditzy disposition. Angel, because of her overall angelic appearance with her white feathery wings. those are the two most different XD

For Karl: ...she doesn't actually have anything for him. At most she sometimes just calls him Heisenberg, his last name.

17. Who says I love you first?

Actually says it out-loud? She does. But through actions it would be Karl. He changed his behavior around her to make her feel more welcomed.

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

I've already done this one, but... I live angst so~

Unfortunately, Evelyn has a soft spot for kids and wished she could be a mother. That may be in part why she's sometimes so quick to kinda act mom-like to Karl and take care of him. There's no way they should have kids though, if they even could (no idea also if Karl would even want a kid anyways), so it's just a bit of an empty piece in the relationship. It doesn't hurt anything in the relationship, but it's just a somber fact.

[jiacast]

Create a Monster

Appearance: Fluffnix is a small, round creature with a soft fur, expressive eyes, 6 tentacles, and feathery antennae, varying colors and moods.

Diet: Fluffnix primarily consumes flowers' sweet nectar and fruit, particularly honeydew melon, and uses a retractable proboscis to drink nectar and juice.

Smell: Fluffnix, a delightful companion with a sweet vanilla and wildflower fragrance, warns potential threats to stay away when frightened or angry.

Sound: Fluffinix communicates through soft, melodious chirps and purrs, resembling wind chimes or bird songs. It can produce high-pitched trills or low growling hums when excited or threatened.

Overall, Fluffinix is a friendly and cuddly monster noted for its inquisitiveness and fun disposition. It is quite gregarious and likes being around with different organisms, frequently building friendships with both people and animals. Its special capacity to switch color and aroma dependent on mood makes it an intriguing and charming friend. Despite its little size, Fluffinix is highly bright and knows basic tricks and duties, making it a fascinating and helpful companion.

[pabloandco]

car restraint dog

Loren the side kick to Pablo For those of you who have been hiding in a sinkhole some spot, Pablo is a long haired Faint Tan little dachshund with a bold disposition to match his dishonorable looks. have been giving the coolest style declarations to all our shaggy mates. We are an Australian based business offering a degree of absurdity pet colleagues to destroy your exceptional feathery mate with. Pre Sales generally proposes that what isn't yet open for shipment in our movement local area. assuming that you ought to assemble two shipments. If nobody truly minds one way or another, note: Transport dates related with the portrayal of things are assessed and dependent upon future developments. The transport window imparted reflects when what will be passed - you want on to permit a few days for it to seem subject to your picked delivering methodology and where you are found.

[the-devil-less-known]

This was a mistake. This was such an awful foolish stupid mistake. He shouldn't be viewing this right now, Alastor would likely rather have one of them dead beyond all returning if he were to find out, and Lucifer really, really doesn't want to try and hide the body as if he wasn't the one to cause it. Hell's bells, Husker would be a witness, since the king had made it fairly clear that he was following the Radio Demon earlier. It would be a no brainer about who was responsible—

— So, uh, multiple reasons not to get found out... not that killing Alastor would make him feel any better about seeing a sinner have a very human moment, a very relatable moment. Just. Supremely uncomfortable. Also. He was NOT committing murder right then (or at all!), thank you.

Feathers fluff up, yellow crest rising from pure mortification as Alastor paces and dresses down- Lucifer shouldn't be seeing this, it's so indecent- he takes the opportunity to waddle his little feathery butt to the under desk, using various furniture for cover and timing it with each step and recited word. He was- he was only looking to make sure he wasn't found out, that was all!

If he notices the nape of Alastor's neck, the scarring of cuts of his forearm like stripes, or the gruesome mark along the column of his throat revealed now— it's by chance, Lucifer tells himself, it's entirely by accident. Manufactured accident. No intention of- of seeing the sinner this- this vulnerable, exposed—

Being under the desk is a relief because it not only took the cockatiel from view, but the owner of the room. Lucifer only had to watch a pair of legs pace and how the shadow was moving to figure out if he should be alarmed. It gives... emotional distance. There's no time for the luxury of examining, not in this tenuous position. Not with the subject of his paranoid musings right there.

The only pieces unretrieved were part of the author's name and the logo of a publishing company, not much of a hint to the title, it had been too far to make out letters and promptly disintegrated. Too little to guess what he had been reading. Not that he really should be so concerned with something so ultimately trivial, but it was easier to handle than- literally everything else happening—

Lucifer peeked out to the side, heart thrumming like wings as booted feet came close to the desk, fear of being caught like this -! But, again, the only thing he's confronted with... is Alastor's accursed humanity.

Lucifer didn't want to see it, none of it.

Not Alastor's personal chambers, not his hobbies, not his troubled disposition, nor his muttered lyric. There was no place for acknowledging his scarring, physical and not, no place for wretched eyes and absence of smile, no place for agitated pulse or catch in throat, no place for seeing the man breathe, collarbones rising and falling—

Too human, too alive, too—

Too much like him, too similar, too layered, enough to make his conscience scream; Lucifer knew, it wouldn't be the consequences of being caught spying that he dreaded most, but the bare expression on Alastor's face upon finding out... That, that he could not reconcile. That, he wouldn't be able to bear.

He didn't want to Know this man, it turned out, because it was like gazing into a mirror, and he could no longer justify when faced with himself, both haunted by someone no longer there and resenting it with lost sleep.

Taking crumbling book into his beak, Lucifer hesitates... but was there really any other reason to linger? As if he could do anything more, or anything good in this specific instance other than leave promptly. He needed the distance to... reevaluate.

It's more fun than it probably should be, almost like a game. Stalking the Radio Demon. Lucifer flies between sconces and decorative vases on tables, using them to keep himself hidden when he thought necessary, trying to keep either well below or well above eye level. There wasn't a way for him to be certain of how attentive Alastor was to his surroundings this first time, so the utmost caution was key.

The minions, admittedly, freaked him out. What were they?? The little guys didn't even seem to notice him, even if they had incidentally invaded his hiding spot. The devil almost gave himself away, thinking Alastor knew he was there and sic'd them on his spy. In reality, he realized, it was likely something unrelated or he thought it was a rat. Lucifer didn't stick around to see what they were doing that first time.

Maybe when he wasn't so small or vulnerable next time.

He doesn't stay near enough to make out the music, using the faint sound as not only a marker for where his target was wandering to, but how close was too close. The ears twitching and rotating his only warning for near detection. It's thrilling and low risk, relatively. Having plausible deniability for what he was doing in the public halls of the hotel.

Same, however, could not be said for Alastor's personal room.

Lucifer hesitates, knowing where the deadend would lead, after such a long day. He could justify being snoopy during work hours, doing the duties of any employee that could be seen by anyone should they have wandered by at a chance moment... But behind closed doors, when the other thought he was alone...?

It's not a sinful murmur in his mind that tempts him; it's Lucifer's own voice in his thoughts that makes up the excuses he chose to use. This was entirely of his own Free Will to invade Alastor's privacy. To break that social contract. No matter how he tried to justify or excuse it, and the fallen angel knew that.

Even as he gives the tiniest flare of energy to teleport right above Alastor's head mid-flap, timing it with the sound of the door moving and the rustling of clothes, to hide out of the way in the room... Lucifer wrestles with that uncomfortable feeling of Knowing what he was doing was fundamentally Wrong.

The feeling only grows upon seeing that the room is a personal chamber, stacks of books and paper, personal affects, he Knows better. What levels would he stoop to next, rooting through Alastor's things?

Seeing bits of the book falling to the ground.... The answer is shamefully yes.

Just enough to use the cover later for reference sake from where he espied a section landed underneath the desk... But he would need to wait until Alastor was more thoroughly distracted ...which meant invading his space longer.... Fuck. He was regretting this so much right now—

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Y/N: wearing anthrorry’s glasses, making fun of his shitty eyesight

Harry: ascending to heaven cause this is what it must look like, completely ignoring everything she’s saying with the fondest look in his eyes

Pls that’s so soft 😔

Y/N mocks him in a posh British accent, mimicking his own antics by spewing random facts about history while purposefully fiddling with the glasses to simulate his mannerisms, exaggerating her rendition for the sake of humor. When she locks eyes with him midway through her little act, she’s surprised to find that his expression is one of fond amusement rather than deadpan irritation. His unorthodox disposition throws her for a loop, and she can’t stop herself from questioning it aloud. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. I’m just observing you, the same way you observe me.”

“But I have your glasses. I thought you couldn’t even make out my face without them?”

“I put my contacts in while you were taking the piss.” He opens the palm of one of his hands, revealing a small, clear plastic box with a transparent liquid swishing inside, a brand named stamped across the lifted foil covering the top, pulled back to retrieve whatever was once stored inside. “Learned how to do it without a mirror when I was twelve.”

Y/N blinks at him curiously, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “You could have just asked for them back.”

Harry gives her a flat, knowing look, the edges of his lips crooking upwards slightly. “Would you have given them back if I did?”

She purses her twitching lips in self-reflective resignation. “Probably not.”

“Precisely. Plus…” He reaches forward and tucks a strand of rouge hair behind her ear, thumbing over her cheek delicately as he admires the softness of the skin. “I wanted to see.”

Y/N’s eyes flit towards where he’s cradling her jaw with startlingly demure intentions, her breath catching in her throat at the sudden change in atmosphere. “See what?”

“See you, obviously.” He squeezes her cheek playfully, rolling his eyes with mirth. “Wanted to see what you looked like in my glasses, acting like a fucking moron with my dress shirt falling off your shoulders and my teeth marked all over your neck.”

Y/N swallows thickly at his tender remark, and the feathery sensation of his fingers dusting across her flesh sends pulses of heat racing throughout her entire body. Her voice comes out as a strained whisper, so quiet that it’s almost in audible. “Well?”

Harry uses his thumb to tap over the center of her parted lips thoughtfully, quirking his eyebrows in the same manner she had. “Well what?”

Y/N comes to the sudden epiphany that he looks so much younger without his glasses. His features aren’t as chiseled and stoic as usual, almost as if the harsh charcoal lines have been smudged with a kneaded eraser, leaving behind a shaded sketch instead of stony geometric edges. This version of his physique is colored in by someone who appreciates kindness, laughter, and the individualism that comes with drawing outside the typical boundaries, rather than the typical artist, who conforms to calculation, poise, and cool indifference instead. It gives his appearance a more juvenile and approachable hue, meaning he actually looks his age for once, rather than seeming older, colder, and borderline apathetic. Less regal and intimating, more mischievous and personable. Sweeter, even. He’s attractive either way, of course, but he just looks so much more attainable when he’s not using his glasses as a scare tactic to hide away how affectionate he truly is.

Y/N clears her throat lightly, her words made of vulnerable glass and brittle mirrors, capable of shattering into a million pieces if handled incorrectly. “Do you like what you see?”

The corners of Harry’s mouth tilt even higher, and she can spot the buckling indents that suggest his dimples are bound to pop into place any minute now. He leans forward until their Cupid’s bows ghost over each other in suspense, and she suddenly detects the shifting of plastic in front of her eyes, which results in her lashes to fluttering out of unsuspecting instinct. She realizes the action is courtesy of Harry’s forefinger, as it has reached up to shift the frames of the accessory, and she watches in a dopey, cross-eyed haze as he uses the pad of the digit to push his glasses further up the bridge of her nose, arranging them into a more secure position. The motion is identical to the one he often performs on himself out of habit, and for some inexplicable reason, that comparison sends a tidal wave of emotions raging through her stuttering chest.

Harry appraises her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, his gaze made of honey and emeralds as he contemplates the strangely intimate question she’d posed. Do you like what you see?

His tone emerges just as fragile and timid as her own, though its crystalline syllables carry the weight of many unspoken sentiments he may never be able to fully express. “I adore it.”

[alliealert202]

BNHA Headcanons: Your First Kiss With Them (Big Three Edition)

Hey guys!

Sorry I’ve been awol for a while - I’ve been away with my family and getting ready to leave for university in a few weeks’ time. 

Thank you so much for all the love and support on my previous posts! It makes me so happy to know that you guys like my cheesy headcanons :)

Without further ado, here’s how I think your first kisses with Amajiki, Hado and Togata would go.

Amajiki Tamaki

It’s a cold January day, and Tamaki has taken you to his favourite lookout point for a date. Because of the chill outside, the two of you have decided to stay in the back seat of his car, watching the world go by from above with the stars shining through the sunroof. Unable to control your love for him as the moon lights up his wistful face, you shuffle over and place a feathery kiss at the corner of his mouth. In response, Tamaki looks at you, flustered to the point where his face has lit up a brilliant shade of pink. He trips over his words as he asks if it is okay to kiss you properly, and with the reassurance that comes with your affirmative response, he cups your face with one hand as he eases you both into a soft, yet tender kiss. 

“A-are you sure you want me to-”

“Yes, Tamaki. It’s okay. You can kiss me.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Hado Nejire

The two of you are walking back to Heights Alliance on a warm spring day, with Nejire practically skipping by your side as the two of you recount the events that happened within the past few hours. You can’t help but fall deeper in love with her as her bubbly, bright-as-a-button disposition makes you smile wider than you ever have before - and in an attempt to fluster her, you pin her against the wall in a kabedon. With a knowing smirk, Nejire - 

(if you’re taller than her) links her arms tightly around your neck and guides you to lift her up, intertwining the two of you in a tight embrace. 

(if she’s taller than you) grabs you by the shoulders, turning the two of you around so that you have your back to the wall, unable to tear your gaze away from Nejire’s periwinkle irises. As she presses her forehead to yours, you wrap your arms around her waist.

As soon as you pull her close, she crashes her lips to yours, whimpering happily as you deepen the kiss.

“Wow, (y/n), it’s not like you to be this bold! Not that I don’t like it. Well, since you asked for it, I guess I should be the one kissing you. Come here, you goofball.”

Togata Mirio

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, you and Mirio have decided to go to the park since neither of you have classes. As you are so wrapped up in conversation with him, you lose your footing and trip over your own feet, heading straight for the grass below you. However, having been trained by the master of prediction himself, Mirio uses his lightning-fast reflexes to fall to his knees and catch you. As the two of you are tangled in an embrace, the sun hits your face in a way that causes Mirio to become completely awestruck by how drop-dead gorgeous you are. With you already pressed close to him, Mirio asks gently if he can kiss you, pecking you softly on the cheek before connecting his lips with yours. 

“Whoa, steady there! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

[deinocheirus]

The reasoning behind the God’s designs part 1: Minerva, Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Vulcan, Venus, Mercury (NS/FW text warning)

Minerva: The first one I initially designed years ago, started off as me wanting to just make her a big ugly brain monster with a toothy smile (which ended up being the main design motif of the gods)

There is a myth that Athena-Minerva had a mother named Metis, who Zeus-Jupiter turned into a fly and ate to prevent the birth of a son prophesied to overthrow him (leading to her giving birth inside him and Athena/Minerva emerging from his head fully grown). The story ended up making me imagining her as some sort of botfly-like entity. Been wanting to make her chin more proboscis-like to make the fly thing more obvious and also makes her slightly elephant-like

Athena/Minerva is described as having blue eyes in sources so I guess I kept one thing about her appearance accurate.

Jupiter: the story of him accendentally vaporizing Semele when he revealed his true nature as a god + taking the form of rain when conceiving Perseus made me want to go with him being a living storm or lightening in some way. Ended up taking the form of a little ball because I wanted him to look as unlike his usual wise grandpa design as possible. Made his eye red cause the red spot on (the planet) Jupiter

Juno: Combined animals strongly associated with her (Cows, peacocks) into something that looks like “the queen of the heavens”, her horns being her “crown”, a "cape” like a peacock’s train. Wanted her to have somewhat of a cosmic look, since the story that the Milky Way was created from her spilled breast milk. The exterior of her cape is whiteish because at one point  I was going to try to make it look a bit like a wedding gown since she’s the Goddess of marriage, but i don't know how much that remained in the final design.

Gave her a lot of eyes cause her association with Argus/peacocks, often being described as “Cow eyed”, as well as her watchful nature.

Mars: There was no mythological basis for him being ape-like it just felt right for a war god. Ares and Mars traditionally are not strongly associated with phallic imagery (Mercury/Hermes, Dionysus/Liber, and Roman Vesta were much more so), but (Roman) Mars association with Virility and masculinity and (Greek) Ares association with being his family's embarrassment lead to his Priapus-like...anatomy. 

His helmet started off as a strange combination of a galea helmet and a handgun. His shape and cool scheme was inspired by hearts (mostly artistic renditions depicting them with blue veins)

Venus: Her (literal)fluid nature is both because beauty is subjective and depends on person to person so it made sense to make her shapeshifting...but also because in the most common story of her birth she was born from the seafoam that formed around castration of the personification of the sky Ouranos (ew...) and emerged fully formed from the water, hence why she's so..goopy and watery.

The black markings on her were initially inspired by the black “mask” on swans, symbol of love and beauty and are nasty birds, as well as Common Dolphins and marble.

She has a lot of different forms, but her one for Vulcan has no arms like the Venus de Milo, somewhat fits his artisan nature. Her form around Mars is based around the fact Aphrodite likely has origins as a war Goddess, maybe she likes Mars cause he keeps her closer to her roots.

Vulcan: Based very loosely off a crab, both because the disposition I gave him, as well as unevenly build arms (since he's a blacksmith). According to one source  he was associated with crabs and called “crab footed”, but I'm not sure if that was a source of inspiration I've forgotten about from years ago, or if it's a coincidence.

He is tripedal, both because the god has created wheeled auto-mobile tripods in mythology, and also because tripedal locomotion in animals and machines gives a limping gait. 

Mercury: Based off a tortoise since it's a symbol of the god and having a god associated with speed be a tortoise is kinda funny. Two mouths because he's the god of messages and a trickster. The feathery antenna and birdish look were based on Mercury’s  winged cap and sandals. Putting his eyes on his shell was a purely aesthetic decision but someone else asked if it was because he's a god in my setting who always backstabs and therefor has to watch his own back, which is better reasoning then what I had.

The rainbow color scheme was inspired by the other messager of Olympus, the Goddess and personification of rainbows Iris. The way the colors were arranged on him was inspired by parrots.

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2021: The Sea & The Sky

Day 7 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt The Sea & The Sky!

Don't mind me crying in the corner that Kataang Week is basically over, but anyways I'm super proud of this last oneshot and hope you all enjoy it!

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Summary: Another year, another, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 7: The Sea & The Sky. Katara was the sea, Aang was the sky, destined to meet at the horizon where they were bound together for all eternity.

Word Count: 1.7K (barely)

The sea and sky, two entities as old as time itself. In some ways, as contrasting as the night and day, and in others, perfect reflections of one another.

The sea has always been below the sky, left to gaze upon the brilliance of the celestial bodies embedded in it for all eternity and reflecting the light of the bright stars beyond.

The sky has always been above the sea, forever peering down into its depths for the miracles and mysteries hidden beneath, and guiding its steady waves as they crash upon the shores of the Earth.

The sea is the reason the azure sky is adorned with feathery white wisps floating high above the ground, and the sky, in turn, fills the oceans and floods the rivers with the very liquid that makes survival possible.

The sea fosters life beneath its steady, undulating surface. It holds flora and fauna of all shapes, colors, and sizes, and it was a point of fascination for the sky. The sky, in all its glory, could not sustain anything for long. Even the birds that rode over its swift breezes had to eventually land somewhere below. And yet, the sky was free, a vast expanse of space that extended beyond what the sea could ever imagine to be possible. It wasn’t shackled by the chains of the planet, and the sea almost envied it.

In the days of old, when sailors ruled the seas, the ocean and her gentle waves would push them across great stretches of nothingness, while the sky and his stars would aid in guiding them on their journeys. Without the sky, those explorers would be lost at sea, and without the sea, their ambitions would remain sky-high with their dreams of traveling the world doomed to remain just that- dreams.

The sea and the sky have always been connected. Together, they make a thriving world possible. And so it follows that those so closely bonded to their elements, Aang and Katara, would be similarly linked by the fabric of space and time.

Though he was the Avatar, Aang’s native element was that of air. He preferred to soar on his glider high above the clouds, and gravity was a laughable concept to him. True to his airbending disposition, Aang’s natural inclinations were to evade conflict and obstacles in order to move forward, like a leaf on the wind.

Katara was born in the Southern Water Tribe, surrounded by ice, glaciers, and the frigid seas of the South Pole. She wielded the element of water, adapting and accepting things as they came since water was the element of change. She would experience swells of emotion similar to the waves, but she always came down into a steady balance, an ebb and flow just like tides.

Aang and Katara were not each other’s antithesis, far from it actually, but rather each other’s complements. Had they been such stark opposites, their relationship would’ve been much more turbulent, having the highest of highs but also the lowest of lows. They needed not a sharp contrast but rather a soft blend to allow them to communicate with and learn from one another. It was this that allowed them to work so well.

When Katara was firm and unyielding like a tsunami approaching the shore, Aang accepted her stance and often strengthened it. Consequently, if the airbender was flighty and indecisive, Katara would be there to ground him and guide him to something he felt confident in.

Katara was Aang’s earthly tether. When his head drifted up into the clouds, she pulled him back to the real world and allowed him to guide the four nations into an era of peace and prosperity. On the other hand, Aang showed Katara true freedom and what being unrestrained felt like. He brought her up with him on his glider and taught her to defy nature’s laws, to not be afraid to take exhilarating risks, and to keep her ambitions sky-high.

Their worlds collided like the brilliance of colors created as the sun set over the horizon, gradually leaving the realm of the sky and sinking into the sea. Some of their traits reflected each other like the sun’s rays on the sparkling surface of the water, and the others melded together well to make the glorious gradient that streaked the sky as night fell. Together, Aang and Katara created a rich harmony filled with overtones that mirrored the depth of their connection.

When they first met, that instant link, the bond that tied them together, was remarkably evident to all those around them. It was absolutely undeniable.

Though Sokka had mostly been joking when he had called Aang Katara’s boyfriend, there were still some astute observations lying under his exaggerated comment. Sokka knew his sister. She didn’t take to people too well, he had noticed over the years. Katara was protective, almost overly so, of the people she loved, and it was hard for her to let people in.

And yet here was Aang, a boy whom she had quite literally taken into her open arms without so much as a blink of hesitation, a boy whom she was ready to leave her tribe, everything and everyone she had ever known, and travel across the world for. It seemed so out of character. Katara didn’t usually make sense to her brother, but this was something different, something special.

Even Gran Gran had taken notice of the unique energy between them. “Aang is the Avatar,” she had told the Water Tribe siblings. “He is the world's only chance. You both found him for a reason. Now your destinies are intertwined with his,” and she was right.

That day, Aang and Katara had forged a connection that wouldn’t, that couldn’t, ever be severed. Breaking him out of the iceberg had been the catalyst for the rest of their lives together. Their adventures following only served to deepen and strengthen that link, allowing them to fall wholly and completely for one another and experience a love they didn’t know was possible.

Visiting Aunt Wu was the first time Katara had really stopped to consider how far their bond went and the strength of her feelings for Aang. She knew they had something unique, something exceptional, but she hadn’t ever thought it could run that deep. “The man you’re going to marry… I can see that he is a very powerful bender.” It made sense, didn’t it? The boy who had changed her life for the better would grow to be the man that she would spend the rest of her life with.

Their kiss in the Cave of the Lovers only further cemented the idea in her head, and a part of her began to believe that their meeting was fate, just like the tale of Oma and Shu. Aang, while still reeling from embarrassment at some of his words (“I’m saying I’d rather kiss you than die, that’s a compliment!”), also began to have similar thoughts, thinking that maybe they too had parallels to the starcrossed lovers and that the love that they shared would one day too be immortalized in legend.

The battle in the catacombs underneath Ba Sing Se seemed like an all too abrupt end to their story. It simply didn’t feel real. How could their link just have been cut off like that? No, Katara wasn’t ready to accept it. She couldn’t accept it. It went against the laws of the universe, it wasn’t possible.

She was going to do whatever it took to keep him there with her, and she did. She brought Aang back from the spirit world through the purest of love, light, and determination, and she made it her duty to never let such a thing happen again.

It was what allowed them to fulfill their roles as the Avatar and his waterbending master at Sozin’s Comet and have their kiss afterward, the early buddings of a relationship that would last a lifetime. Years later, they would go on to pronounce that love to all their friends and family, but, for now, they were more than just their fates.

Just as Aang was able to manipulate water along with his primary element of air, the heavens held clouds in its vast expanse of sky, connecting it to the sea. The sea sent water up in the form of vapor to create those fluffy masses above, and the sky releases the water that the clouds hold in torrents of rain back down to the ground, tying the two together in an endless cycle.

Similarly, waterbending was one of the many things that bound Aang and Katara. It was the reason they had met, the reason Katara was able to break Aang out of that iceberg, and it was the reason they embarked on their epic journey to the North Pole- to learn from the masters and even become ones themselves.

Waterbending linked them as sifu and pupil, strengthening their bond. Without waterbending, Aang may have never realized that fateful day of her adjusting his form of the effect she had on him, the full intensity of the pull, the attraction she held in his eyes.

Waterbending had made Katara especially attuned to the rhythm of the waves rising and falling, and it didn’t long for her to notice how her and Aang’s dynamic reflected it, ebbing and flowing in a delicate yet harmonious balance.

Their meeting had been fate, an event necessary for the survival of the world itself, but that did not define them. With each other, they were not their destinies. They were not the Avatar and his waterbending master, nor were they the beacon of hope for the future of the Air Nation.

No, they were Aang and Katara, two people who had defied all odds, overcome all obstacles, and quite literally gone to the Spirit World and back all in the name of love.  They were not the heroes who had saved the world, but soulmates, fated just as the sky and the sea were to meet at their own horizon. They were two people irreversibly linked to each other then, now, and till the end of time itself.