#scurries off

[aphreblogs]

they proceed to roll around the floor like two yowling alley cats

[inheritsnothing]

*mumbles softly* would anyone like to be affiliates

[soggyyycereal]

Hiii! You seem cool :3

Smhhh I hope I am, I worked hard to be this awesome/JJJJ (I PROMISE I’M NKT THAT COCKY I SWEAR..)

[birdiepaws]

constantly restraining from making about dynamics in ocs

[worldlydesiretemple]

hi chat. Hey, chat. if i start reblogging trolls the movie franchise. you ignore me. okay? okay.

[starstrewnspore]

wait. guys. the magnus institute was built over millbank prison, right? but this one wasn't. this time it's not in london. so what's it built over this time?

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ DUTY-BOUND ꒱ AKAGAMI NO SHANKS X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! very suggestive. alcohol use. period talk. foot worship. scent kink. female reader. reader and shanks are married, and shanks uses a few pet names—some silly, some serious—including: “lady love” / “ma’am” / “my love” / “my wife.” please note that shanks only has his right arm.

word count ⟢ 1115

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was shanks + period sex. this is my first time writing shanks, and truthfully, it reignited my lust for him... i hope i did him justice. please enjoy!

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

It’s late; you lost track of time when the sky was still an azure ocean, the sun floating peerless in its splendor. An expensive—now empty—bottle of spiced rum lies at your feet, its warmth eddying through your veins, limbs steeped in honey. Swathed in night’s royal velvet, your hotel room is illuminated only by shivering candlelight and stray moonbeams. You left the balcony door ajar. Outside, the balmy breeze stirs palm leaves, and the sea’s siren song plays, ebbing and flowing with the tide.

For the first time in months, you’re on a real bed. Swapping your trusty hammock for a down-filled mattress feels like a luxury—one you refuse to take for granted. While your earlier beachside dinner left you satiated and wooed, your date led you to a nearby bar for drinks and dancing. Laughter rang in your ears as you draped your wrists over his broad shoulders, a thick arm anchored low across your hips, chin kissing the top of your head. The merriment concluded with what he insisted would be a “borrowed” bottle of rum.

(“Cap’s favorite,” he whispers conspiratorially against your temple, cradling the stolen cargo inside the billowing fabric of his cape.)

But as you lounge in bed together, your mind wanders. Shanks rests on his side, head propped up with his right arm. You’re curled against his bare chest, the vitality of his battle-worn flesh and the ardent beat of his heart setting your nerves alight. His hooked nose is buried in your hair, lips pressed to your crown.

“Nothing much,” you belatedly reply.

“Hmm…” He pulls back to study your expression, playful gaze narrowing, mapping the contours of your profile as though he’s navigating an uncharted island. After a few beats of silence, he finally announces: “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He hums. “You always have something to complain about.”

(That earns him a swift smack to the shoulder.)

“Ouch!” he gasps, face contorting in mock anguish. “My lady love wounds me.”

“If you must know,” you huff, ignoring his antics to instead twirl a delicate finger through his chest hair, “it’s my time of the month. So I’m not exactly feeling my best and brightest.”

“I see…Is that it?”

You indulge the petulant urge to roll your eyes. “If only I could ball up my pain and force it upon you, Mr. Can’t-Leave-His-Hammock-All-Day-When-He-Has-A-Mild-Cough.”

“No—you misunderstand me,” he sighs.

Slipping his arm beneath your waist, he shifts to hover above you, the ring hanging from the golden chain around his neck gleaming with reflected moonlight. His frame is almost comically large; almost. The way he so effortlessly maneuvers you, his body eclipsing yours, trapping you in place—forcing you to stare up at him: your captain, your lover, your husband—has heat blooming in your belly.

“What I mean is that there are ways to deal with this sort of pain.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, craning your neck to brush your lips against the ring; his jaw flexes. “Enlighten me, then,” you challenge.

You’ve fallen right into his trap and you know it. His grin is devastatingly radiant. Vast and blinding as the horizon on a cloudless day, it holds a sly promise. He leans down, lips grazing yours, breath so sweet your teeth ache. “Yes ma’am.”

Shanks considers himself lucky that you’re mostly undressed: your frame drowns in one of his old, sun-bleached shirts, the excess fabric pooling at your thighs. Underneath it, a simple pair of cotton panties is all that separates him from what he desires most.

Sliding down the length of your form, his excitement is apparent as it strains against his breeches. He nudges the hem of your makeshift nightgown with his nose, teasing it upward, careful to scrape the stubble on his cheeks and chin across your tender flesh. Continuing until the garment reaches the apex of your thighs, he then bites down on the soft linen, dragging it up to your hips with his teeth.

When you raise an eyebrow—Leaving your work half-finished, Akagami? he can hear you goad—he rasps, “I quite enjoy this view. As long as my love doesn’t mind, that is.”

(If the quickening of your pulse is anything to go by, you don’t mind in the slightest.)

Sitting back on his heels, he skims his fingers along the sinuous outline of your leg, supple hip to the arch of your foot. He splays his palm across your ankle, rough thumb stroking the bone. Gingerly, he raises your foot to his mouth, blotting a kiss against the sole before lifting his lips to your toes, slick pink peeking out, messily dragging his tongue across each digit. His eyes never leave yours, stormy with lust—fresh ichor seeping onto the salt-damp deck of a pirate ship: sublime.

Even in the throes of worship, crimson strands marring his vision, he looks every bit the Emperor he is.

Soon, he works his way back between your legs, wasting little time as he shoves his face into the seam of your underwear, inhaling deeply with a groan. You want to harass him for acting like an ill-trained mutt, but the knowledge that he’s getting off on your scent—that after a day of exploring and sweating and bleeding he still yearns for you—makes your head fuzzy.

You clear your throat. “Shanks. You don’t have to…you know.”

He doesn’t move even a hair’s breadth, eyelids heavy, the low rumble of his voice resounding in your core as he drawls, “I’m a big boy; a bit of blood isn’t gonna hurt me.”

His hand creeps downward, slowly—purposefully—until it rests atop your final layer. His fore and middle fingers sneak past the waistband and tangle in your pubic hair. Meanwhile, he stretches his thumb out to stroke your aching clit, featherlight, still not touching you directly.

“Besides,” he adds, no mirth in his manner for the first time all evening, “it’s my duty to help my wife.”

[risingblackmoon]

You did this once before, now it's MY turn. Oh how the turn tables :)

Even OBLIGATATORIER whiteboard doodles

Ft:

Our Sonas after encountering rude people on the Infinite Ikea Roblox game

Wobble dog au Eclipse

My Sun (aka CapriSun) being a pissy little bitch about nothing in particular (possibly influenced by the glitchtrap virus)

My Moon(aka CapriMoon) meeting Spade's Sun(CandyCorn) post ruin in our roleplay AND CapriMoon strangling Glitchtrap

Its OC Cel wearing a shirt way too big for them

...And finally, its Moon(CandyMoon) knitting something for its OC Happy :)

obligatory whiteboard doodles (including @risingblackmoon’s ocs jupiter and crescent, including his sona and my own oc) also sun and moon … as a treat

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Transformation sequence go brrr

[farharbour]

"We definitely look at the two and try create connections through animation, through design, all kinds of things." -Gavin Jurgens-Fyhrie

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

haha they're getting along

[tmntkiseki]

#TMNT2003OutOfContext

[fineapplequeen]

Made my day thank you

Sincerely a wet cat

Ain’t you a bit old for trick or treating…/silly/nm

[bluesfreakingart]

Intimacy.

That was a word Jervis Tetch wasn't familiar with all too much. He'd read about it in novels, in TV shows; he'd seen it in the couples he passed on the streets. But one common thread between all these experiences was the lack of the real experience.

He was always at arm's length despite being surrounded by it day-to-day. The man lived a rather lonely life, repeating routines with his work and home life. Alice struck that chord in him finally, that initial scratch to a feeling he couldn't quite distinguish… not at first.

At first, he tried to deny it, maybe even lead his mind to a more logical conclusion. Days passed by, then months, and still onward as that feeling slowly but surely made its name known. Love, yes, that's what he called it at first. In truth, it was at some point until that became craving, a desperate, desperate craving to keep that feeling.

One that wasn't reciprocated; he knew this and yet there he was… taking it back with an iron grip.

And he'd try again, and again to no avail. He was the Mad Hatter, after all; he had no qualms with insanity. After the wedding, after the dream he'd never thought he'd love again.

He didn't even think he'd be alive after that. Tetch had almost wished instead of faking his death in Arkham, that he would have ended things there.

But he didn't. No, he kept going… but why? Well, that was the question of a lifetime, maybe two. When had he gotten the will to go on? Ah, right… two, again, two red-headed men.

One in burgundy, the other in green.

Two seconds, it took for Edward to charm him with their charisma. Two seconds, it took for the excitement of their latest venture for Jonathan to kiss him.

Two seconds more, it took Jonathan to realize, then push the Mad Hatter off him.

There were two skips of his heart as the Mad Hatter lingered on those chapped lips. Two days or more to get Jonathan's actions off his mind.

It only took two soft words, "Hey, Jervis…" for him to take Edward's hand and follow.

… two seconds to look up into those pretty eyes to realize that feeling again.

Only one managed to give him that before.

One.

Tetch lay under silken sheets, listening to Edward's soft breaths as he slept. For once… in what seemed like forever.

She wasn't on his mind.

Only Jonathan and Edward seemed to occupy his thoughts within the moment. That craving that ate and clawed at him so often, that beast that couldn't be quelled no matter how he tried… Finally, it fell silent, deathly silent.

"How scary," Tetch thought.

"How terrifying it is… to know comfort."

[sleepy-the-loz-enthusiast]

"...'ncle..?" Legend muttered, shifting his face to bury it in the soft fat of Sky's stomach. Even through layers of fabric, the heat radiating off the teen's forehead was enough to make Sky wince.

That, however, was nothing but a passing thought.

"Mhm, that's right. I'm right here, Link, it's okay..." Sky assured, threading his fingers into Legend's hair without hesitation.

Was it a mistake? Sky hopes not, but hearing the small noise the Veteran hero makes...

"I missed you..." Sky's doubts die with those three muttered words, uttered with such raw vulnerability it almost makes him cry.

"Awe, it's okay buddy. I'm here now, alright? It's all okay..." Sky cooed, knowing damn well that once this sickness passes Legend will remember none of this, but his heart breaking nonetheless.

"Mmkay..." Legend shifted slightly, resting his full weight on the older hero's legs and nestling into his arms. "...'ncle? I don'... feel so good.."

"Yeah I bet, you're pretty sick..." Sky said softly, his fingers absentmindedly carding through the delirious veteran's hair and voice rumbling slightly.

'Pretty sick' was an understatement. Legend had forgotten about a stab wound and left it for weeks to get infected, then proceeded to collapse with a fever. He'd been delirious for the past two days, barely waking up enough to sip water and broth. To make matters worse, the group was stranded out in the woodlands of some random Hyrule with no towns in sight. Thankfully the lands seemed healthy enough for Wild to forage and cook hearty dishes... but still.

"..'m I gonna die?" Legend whispered, looking up at Sky without a trace of recognition but a world of vulnerability and fear. Small tears started to form in those glassy eyes.

"No, no, you're gonna be all okay. I won't let anything bad happen to you, alright? It's okay, it's okay..." Sky gently uttered, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his hairline.

"Mmn... promise..?" Legend's eyelids drooped, his battle to stay conscious slipping with every passing second.

Quietly settling beside the Skyloftian, Warriors gently handed him a mug. He wore a firm, yet worried expression on his face.

"I promise. But first, you have to drink this, okay? It'll make you feel better. You can go back to sleep then." Sky gently nudged Legend's lips with the brim of the mug.

Too sleepy to object, Legend obliged and started taking small, slow sips until the mug was fully emptied. In Sky's words, Legend resembled a sleepy remlit; cuddling up to the older hero in a way he'd never dare to if fully conscious. Nobody would dare take advantage of that vulnerability; not even Warriors, for all the two teased eachother.

Now, though, Sky slowly laid himself down on his bedroll, keeping an arm securely holding Legend close. With his prickly barriers down, Legend let himself melt into the warm embrace, feeling so safe and secure that in his last seconds of awareness he started crying.

"I love you..." Three words muttered with sincerity, and the sickly hero passed out once again.

(I'm not sure how this happened, but it did. I think maybe it's the idea that Legend's subconscious recognises Sky as a similar presence to his uncle that when he's caught in such delirium he mistakes them? Idk, but yeah, I hope you liked reading this !!)

[princemullet]

can we talk about how queer he is